Part 1

WHEN EAST MET WEST

A Complete Novelette

By W. C. Tuttle

Author of “Hidden Blood,” “The Lovable Liar,” etc.

Some poetical person once wrote:

For East is East and West is West. And never the twain shall meet.

He was all wrong, that feller--all wrong. And I’ll tell you how I know he was wrong.

I ain’t no pessimist. Not by a danged sight, I ain’t. If a little kid burns his fingers on a red-hot stove and keeps away from the fire from that time on, you don’t call him a pessimist. That’s me--burnt to a caution.

All the Harper tribe, as far back as I can figure out, was cautious. We bred more runners than we did fighters. Of course there ain’t as many of us as there is Smiths. Smiths predominate, as it were. Anyway, the Smith tribe ain’t got nothin’ to do with this.

I ain’t been in Piperock for several weeks. Me and “Dirty Shirt” Jones has been prospectin’ back in the Whisperin’ Creek hills, with our usual good luck--of gettin’ back before all our food was gone. And we finds my pardner, “Magpie” Simpkins, settin’ at the table in our shack, wearin’ his Sunday clothes.

Magpie is so danged tall that it takes him all day to find out whether a certain pain is indigestion or inflammation of the kneecaps. He’s solemn, Magpie is. And when that elongated, pious-faced cross between a scientific lecture and a ---- fool statement gets pouches under his eyes and droops his eyelids like a blood-hound--caution cometh to me.

Magpie is writin’. He’s got ink plumb to his elbow and the floor is plumb littered with paper. Does he welcome us effusively? Like ---- he does. He just looks at us, kinda reprovin’-like, as if we should ’a’ knocked.

“Well, you old cattywampus, howdy!” greets Dirty Shirt.

Dirty has one eye that kinda oscillates, as it were. Not bein’ what an astronomer would call ‘a fixed orbit,’ it does a lot of jigglin’ before it picks up what Dirty’s lookin’ at.

But it don’t noways affect Dirty’s aim, bein’ as he shoots with both eyes open, and most of the time with both legs workin’. Magpie looks him over solemnly and says--

“Mr. Jones, I give you good afternoon.”

Dirty spits in the general direction of the stove.

“I’ll take it,” says he.

“Mr. Harper,” says Magpie dignified-like.

I kicks the door shut, slides my gun around where I can get it real quick and looks my old pardner over. He’s shaved. Yeah, you can always tell when Magpie has shaved, because he’s got so danged many wounds. He’s got on a celluloid collar--one of them kind that it ain’t safe to smoke in. I can smell stove polish, which Magpie has used on his boots.

Take it all the way around, Magpie Simpkins is a dude.

“You ain’t got yore days mixed, have yuh?” I asked.

“Days mixed?”

He speaks like an actor--kinda runnin’ the scale in G flat, as yuh might say.

“This ain’t Sunday,” says I.

“I am well aware of it.”

“Then what’s the idea of dressin’ up thisaway?”

“The idea? Hah!” He kinda swells up with importance. “I’m the president.”

I looks quick at Dirty, who is starin’ at Magpie with his mouth wide open. Then he looks at me and shakes his head.

“Ike,” says he hoarse-like, “I knowed it. By ----, the human brain can jist stand so much. He’s been feeblin’ up in the head for a long time. I’ve seen it comin’ on by degrees, and I ain’t a mite surprized. There ain’t nothin’ yuh can do, except to hopple ’em so they can’t hurt nobody.”

Magpie looks at Dirty kinda funny and Dirty edges toward the door.

“Better git a rope, Ike,” advises Dirty, backin’ agin’ the door. “Them high-minded first symptoms is apt to degenerate into vi’lence, and we don’t want him to hurt nobody.”

“Set down, you ---- fool,” says Magpie. “I ain’t crazy.”

“Proves it on himself,” declares Dirty nervous-like. “They all swear they ain’t. Look out for his first rush, Ike.”

But I holds firm. To me he’s always been crazy so I ain’t scared of an extra degree.

“Democrat or Republican president?” I asks. “We didn’t git back in time for the convention, you remember.”

“Don’t try to be smart, Ike,” says he. “I plumb forgot that you fellers has been away. Since you was here, Piperock has advanced by leaps and bounds. Right now I am writin’ a biography of our fair city for all to read and appreciate how we have advanced. It is marvelous.”

“What is? The biography?” asks Dirty.

“No--our advancement. Gentlemen, we are on the threshold of a wonderful era for Piperock. No more shall the rest of the world point a finger of scorn at our community. No more shall they say that Piperock is uncivilized, unbalanced. From this day henceforth we shall blossom like the rose. Our ideals shall and will be realized to the fullest extremity. How is that, Ike?”

“Fits in with what we’ve just heard,” says I.

“And with the dawnin’ of a new day--” Magpie squints at his paper--“all these--that’s as far as I’ve got.”

“And that’s a ---- of a long ways, if you ask me,” said Dirty Shirt solemn-like.

“Now about bein’ president,” says I. “Yuh hadn’t ought to go that far, Magpie.”

“Hadn’t I? Huh! That’s who I am, Ike. Look upon me. I am the first president of the Piperock Chamber of Commerce.”

“What the ---- kind of a thing is that?” asked Dirty.

“Chamber of Commerce? Dirty Shirt, I’m surprized at you. It is an organization.”

“It’s the same thing as the Chamber of Horrors,” says I, “only they deals in commerce mostly. This one will prob’ly have horrors as a side-line.”

“Nothin’ of the kind, Ike,” protests Magpie. “Piperock is past the age of swaddlin’ clothes. We has emerged into the sunlight and it will be well for all other cities to look to their laurels. I wouldn’t be surprized to see Piperock one of the big cities of the world. We have everythin’ to make it big.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a lot of country,” admits Dirty Shirt. “Me and Ike came across twenty miles of it today, and there was more beyond where we started from. If you want to go east, west, north or south from here yuh can find a lot of open country. We’ve got room to build, that’s a cinch.”

“But what would bring anybody here?” I asks. “Folks won’t even come from Paradise, except to a dance; and then they come to pick a fight. We ain’t got a ---- of a lot to offer--except to somebody that wants trouble, Magpie.”

“We will have, Ike. The idea was started in Paradise originally. Me and Wick Smith was down there last week and we went to see a tent show. It wasn’t much good and it wasn’t doin’ no business. Me and Wick got to talkin’ to the feller that owned the show and he told us all about his hard luck.

“He says that a circus is a drug on the market now, and that animiles ain’t worth nothin’, except in a zoo. He says that he’s really surprized that some of our towns don’t have no zoo. He says they’re all puttin’ ’em in in the East, and that no town can ever be an attraction unless it’s got a zoo.

“Well, me and Wick has a few drinks with him and got to talkin’ it over with him. He says he’s got the ingredients of a first-class zoological menagerie, and that he’s got a idea of puttin’ the proposition up to Paradise. He’s got a elephant. Of course it ain’t no first class elephant, bein’ as it’s kinda run down from travelin’ so much.

“The camel is--well, it ain’t noways in full plumage, but it’s a camel. The tiger seems to be as good as tigers go. He says he’ll take a thousand dollars for the whole bunch. ’Course he tells us how much we’d have to pay if we bought them animiles at retail price; but he kinda lumps ’em together and gives ’em to us at cost.

“Wick Smith is public-spirited, and after I tells him what we’ll do about organizin’ a Chamber of Commerce, he ups and buys them animiles on the spot. The feller throws in the cage free gratis for nothin’; so that saves us quite a lot. I figures that we can pick up a grizzly and a wolf and mebbe a mountain lion to kinda add to our zoo. Folks will come a long ways to look at wild animiles, Ike--a long ways.”

Me and Dirty looks at each other and goes out to unpack, while Magpie goes ahead on Piperock’s epitaph.

* * * * *

It’s been quite a while since we put our foot on the rail; so we hurries up to Buck Masterson’s saloon, where we runs into Wick Smith and “Mighty” Jones. Mighty and Dirty Shirt ain’t no relation. Mighty is a little jigger, who thinks he’s big enough to hold his own. That’s one reason why Mighty is mostly always on crutches. He swears in a tenor voice and chaws his tobacco.

Buck greets us gladly, but Wick don’t seem so happy.

“You fellers been prospectin’ again?” asks Buck.

“Yeah, and we’re goin’ ag’in,” says Dirty Shirt. “This here town is gettin’ too danged effete to suit me and Ike.”

“It is effete,” agrees Mighty. “Ain’t been nobody killed for two weeks.”

“Cheer up, brother,” says Wick solemn-like. “There’s allus a lull before a storm.”

“You preparin’ to massacre?” I asks.

“Well, I ain’t been treated right,” says Wick. “I done paid a thousand cold dollars for some jungle insects, and I’m wonderin’ jist how I’m goin’ to cash in on said contraptions. Magpie Simpkins got me drunk and talked me into bein’ a public benefactor, dang his hide.

“Got me to procure the ingredients of a zoological garden, that’s what he done. Got the whole ---- town heated up over a thing he calls the Piperock Chamber of Commerce, and then goes out and gits himself elected president. That’s a ---- of a way to do, ain’t it?”

“You wanted to be president, eh?” I asks.

“Well, ----, why not. I bought the ---- thing, didn’t I? Magpie said that Piperock would pay me back for it. How’ll they do it, I’d like to know. Mebbe I’m supposed to raffle ’em off, eh?”

“I won’t buy no chances,” says Buck. “I’ve been down to the livery-stable and got a look at them there animals, and I’m free to state that I don’t want none. Magpie orates that we’ll have ’em to attract more folks to Piperock. My ----, that bunch will drive away what we’ve got.”

“If I had that elephant,” said Mighty, “I’d shore take a reef in him. His hide don’t fit him no place. He ain’t no attraction--he’s a disgrace. From the rear he looks like ‘Polecat’ Perkins in his Sunday pants. Wick, you ort to give him a belt to take up the slack.”

“That’s why he’s an attraction,” declared Wick. “The feller I bought him from said that Gunga Din was a rare species of elephant. His name’s Gunga Din. My ----, he ort to be good. I paid three hundred and thirty-three dollars and thirty-three and one-third cents for him. That camel and the tiger cost the same.”

“I think that Magpie’s crazy,” say I.

“How about me?” wails Wick. “I paid for ’em myself.”

“Yore wife’s callin’ yuh, Wick,” observed Buck.

Wick squints toward the door and nods sadly.

“Yeah, I left her to run the store while I talks over my sorrow. Now I’ve got to go back and git ---- agin’. She don’t believe in Chambers of Commerce, she don’t; and I’m commencin’ to wonder if she ain’t right.”

Wick pilgrims across the street, while me and Dirty goes down to the livery stable to see what Wick bought. “Hassayampa” Harris is runnin’ the stable.

“Howdy, Hassayampa,” says I. “How are you?”

“Liver trouble,” says he, diagnosin’ himself. “Spots before m’ eyes, dizziness and kinda sluggish-like.”

He does look kinda pale and walks antegodlin’.

“How comes you to git them there symptoms?” asks Dirty.

“Ignorance,” says Hassayampa. “I tried to take a bale of hay away from Exhibit A of the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Meanin’ Gunga Din?”

“That accordion-skinned thing,” says Hassayampa painful-like, kinda pluckin’ at his Adam’s apple. “I ain’t jist right in m’ mind yet. It grabbed me by the slack of the pants and took m’ pants plumb off while I’m still in the air. Them kinda shocks ain’t noways good for the human form. Then the ---- thing slapped me across the face with my own pants and knocked me plumb across the stable and into the oat-bin. I ain’t been right since.”

“You ort to read up on things like that,” says Dirty.

“Read? What in ---- can a man read at a time like that?”

“Wasn’t there no directions with ’em?” I asks.

“No. Direction don’t mean nothin’ to a thing like that, Ike. Do you want to gaze upon ’em?”

“Yeah, we’ll look,” nods Dirty.

“Cost two-bits per each,” informs Hassayampa. “Magpie says they’re worth it--and they are. My ----, there ain’t no questions about it.”

“That’s a ---- of a idea!” snorts Dirty. “Two-bits to see a elephant. I’ll tell you what we will do, Hassayampa; we’ll pay the two-bits to see you try to take another bale away from Gunga Din.”

“You never will,” sighs Hassayampa. “I’m cured. Anyway, I’m about half out of hay. I’ve got a bill of seven dollars agin’ them critters right now. By golly, that tagger c’n go plumb to ----. Meat costs money.”

We left Hassayampa talkin’ to himself and went back up town, where we leans on Buck’s bar.

We ain’t been there long when Mike Pelly, Ricky Henderson and “Old Testament” Tilton rides in from Paradise. Mike is the saloon-keeper and Ricky runs the barber shop. The third member of this here trio represents the other element of Paradise.

Testament looks a heap like some old buzzard that had been disappointed in love. He wears one of them beetle-backed coats, a pair of pants that sure follers the contour of his skinny legs and a pair of boots that sag a heap at the top and shows that Testament don’t noways pinch his feet.

Mike parts his hair on one side, slicks one side down until she almost reaches the bridge of his nose, where it retreats some sudden-like. He smells a heap of heel-yuh-tripe perfume.

Ricky is a barber. He looks, smells and acts like one. When he gets excited he applauds, like he was stroppin’ a razor. Testament used to think that he had snatched Ricky and Mike from the burnin’. When Testament first comes to that country he has an idea that there was a lot of brands to snatch from the burnin’; but he got scorched a few times and let things go as they lay.

Them three angles up to the bar, shakes hands with us, just like they cared to meet us, and asks us to drink. Testament has his usual lemonade and a wink, and then we discusses conditions.

“How is everythin’ in this village of iniquity?” asks Testament kinda offhanded.

“Iniquity, ----!” snorts Buck. “There ain’t no iniquity in Piperock. We’re clean-minded and antiseptic of condition. If there’s any infection in this city it’s brought here from Paradise. By golly, some day you’ll be glad to be knowed as bein’ a suburb of Piperock City.”

“Haw-haw-haw-haw!” says Ricky. “Suburb of Piperock. Paradise will be a mee-trop-polis when Piperock goes back to the prairie-dogs.”

It’s difference of opinion that makes horse races, wars and so many kinds of whisky--all out of one barrel. Me and Dirty Shirt are plumb full of civic pride, and we’re willin’ to fight for our fair city--if we had one--but Piperock and Paradise ain’t worth no supreme effort; so we slides out kinda graceful-like and pilgrims back to our shack.

Magpie is just goin’ away, carryin’ complete dignity and a lot of stationery. I tells him about the three men from Paradise.

“The word has reached,” says Magpie, swellin’ his chest. “We shall not hide our light under a bushel.”

“Then you better hide yore carcass behind a wood-pile,” says Dirty Shirt. “Them three antagonizers didn’t jist ride up here to git a drink of liquor.”

“We are a peaceable aggregation,” says Magpie. “No more shall the war-cry sever, nor the runnin’ rivers be red. We are about to shed the things that have held us back. Uncivilization must bow to the tread of wisdom. The wheel of progress is turnin’, and woe unto him who gits under the tire. The people of Piperock have risen in their might, unleashed the bonds which have held them in darkness and are comin’ out into the light of a new day.”

“And,” says Dirty kinda awed-like, “if that ain’t a ---- of a lot to say all in one bunch, I’ll eat the garment that made me famous.”

Magpie snorts and pilgrims on up the street. In spite of the mighty proclamation he emits to us, I notices that he’s got a six-gun shoved into the waistband of his pants. Me and Dirty stretches out on the two bunks and rolls up a little sleep.

* * * * *

In the course of human events some queer things happen. And the queerest thing I can think of is the fact that Jasmine Greenbaum came to teach school at Piperock. Jasmine ain’t the kind you’d imagine would take a job like that.

She’s plumb decorative, if yuh know what I mean. I ain’t goin’ to describe her, ’cause I ain’t got words enough. Her eyes would make a man lift his head when somebody is shootin’ at him. She lives with Wick Smith’s family while she’s teachin’ the young of Piperock to not shoot at each other.

Me and Dirty runs into her that evenin’ after we’ve been stationary at Buck’s bar for an hour or more. Dirty’s active eye jiggles convulsive-like for a while, and he seems to be wearin’ about six too many hands.

“I’m sure you remember me,” says she, smilin’ at us.

“If I lives to be a million, I won’t forget,” pants Dirty.

“I am Mister Harper,” says I. “And the Harper fambly has the longest memories of any fambly on earth.”

“Outside of the Jones’s,” says Dirty. “My old pa could remember before they started puttin’ aces in the decks of cards.”

“Memories don’t figure,” says I. “We’re glad to meetcha, Miss Greenbaum. What can I do for yuh, ma’am?”

“Same here,” says Dirty, kinda elbowin’ me aside.

“I told them that you were always willing to do anything for the public good,” says she, smilin’ sweet-like.

“To whom did yoo tell this, ma’am?” I asks.

Somehow I kinda gets a hunch that everythin’ ain’t just right.

“Mr. Simpkins, the president of the Chamber of Commerce,” says she. “He and Mr. Smith seemed to think----”

“Since when did they start thinkin’?” asks Dirty. “That shore is a novelty to my ears, ma’am.”

“Mr. Simpkins is a very brilliant man,” says she. “He has some wonderful ideas.”

“With parts missin’,” says I.

“Perhaps you do not appreciate what he is doing for Piperock, Mr. Harper,” says she. “I have just come from a meeting of the new Chamber of Commerce, where Mr. Simpkins presided and read us some wonderful plans for the betterment of this town.

“As you know we already have the nucleus of a zoological garden. Mr. Smith, who is heart and soul in the advancement of Piperock, purchased these three jungle animals. Our meeting this afternoon was to decide upon a plan to reimburse Mr. Smith and to acquire the animals for the city.

“Next Monday is Labor Day. I have been lead to understand that Piperock has never celebrated Labor Day.”

“They’ve sure celebrated everythin’ else,” says Dirty Shirt. “My ----, ma’am, don’t let ’em celebrate. You don’t know Piperock.”

“It will be a harmless celebration. I spoke about having you two gentlemen assist, and Mr. Simpkins and Mr. Smith assured me that neither of you had any civic pride. They said that both of you were uncivilized, unprogressive and not at all in accord with any movement that would curb your savage tendencies. I’m sure it is prejudice on their part.”

“Yo’re danged right!” says Dirty. “Them pelicans sure did lie to you in fine shape, ma’am. Piperock don’t mean a whole lot to either one of us, but I’m willin’ to do anythin’ yuh say.”

I’m cautious, as I said before. This here idea of havin’ a pretty school teacher come to us and hoodle us into doin’ somethin’ that our hearts tell us is dangerous don’t set so good. I’ve heard this same kind of stuff before, and so has Dirty; but any old time a pretty girl smiles at Dirty, it’s just another old Garden of Eden and a lot of apples.

She don’t tell us what we’re supposed to do, but she does ask us to promise to help ’em out. Well, what can yuh do in a case like that? Me and Dirty goes back to Buck’s place, where we massages our insides with Buck’s Best.

And lemme tell you somethin’--Buck’s liquor sure tempers the wind to the sheared sheep. Ten years ago he bought a barrel of it. He sells on an average of two or three gallons a day, and that barrel is still over half-full. It has never weakened, as far as we can taste.

After while Magpie and Wick comes into the place. Dignified? My ----, they act like a pair of royal flushes.

“Greetin’s, Mr. Masterson,” says Magpie lofty-like. “How goes things this day and date?”

“Well, all right,” says Buck, bein’ kinda dazed. “How did the meetin’ go?”

“Perfect,” says Magpie. “The die is cast. The ladies’ auxiliary is in complete accord with us and we all feel that it will be a day to date time from. Piperock will emerge from her shell and take her place among the cities of the world.”

“The ladies’ what?” asks Dirty.

“Auxiliary,” explains Wick. “My wife is president. It is an a-ad--uh----”

“Adjunct,” prompts Magpie.

“I know it,” says Wick. “There’s my wife, who is president, and the followin’, to wit: Mrs. Wick Smith, Mrs. Pete Gonyer, Mrs. Yuma Yates, Mrs. Mighty Jones, and Miss Hilda Hansen. Of course the list is not complete, as it were, and we expect more. However, we have a quorum, et cettery, _ad libitum_.”

“I s’d hope sho,” says Dirty, gettin’ dignified. “What ’bout Mish Jasm’n Greenbaum? Ain’t she invited t’ j’in?”

“Miss Jasmine Greenbaum is actin’ in an advisory capacity,” explains Magpie. “It kinda makes her feel free to do as she wishes. We’re leavin’ a lot of it to her imagination.”

“What was Testament and Ricky and Mike doin’ up here?” asks Buck.

“Kinda gropin’ around,” says Magpie. “They heard that we was due to progress, and of course they had to come and see what it was about. I told ’em about Piperock acquirin’ a Chamber of Commerce and three jungle curiosities. They don’t _sabe_ the idea of the Chamber, but they offers to take the animals at a slight advance over what Piperock paid.”

“What did you say?” asks Wick anxious-like.

“I told ’em to go to ----. Them animals ain’t for sale.”