Part 2

“Ain’t they?” asks Wick. “At more’n I paid? Magpie, I’d like to have the say-so over them critters myself. I own ’em, don’t I? They ain’t Piperock’s animals until Piperock has a bill-of-sale for ’em. I sure as ---- don’t thank yuh for what you’ve done to me.”

“Where’s yore public spirit?” asks Magpie.

“Thassall right,” complains Wick. “I’ve got more public spirit than most folks, I reckon; but a thousand dollars is a thousand dollars. If Paradise wants to pay me more’n I paid--they git ’em, by gosh!”

“You’d make a fine president for the Chamber of Commerce,” says Magpie.

“All right,” says Wick. “If you can think of anythin’ else that’s funny, I’ll listen.”

“Yore livestock are eatin’ up dollars,” says I.

“Yeah, and that’s another thing,” wails Wick, pawin’ at Magpie’s sleeve. “Who’s goin’ to pay their board?”

“Gunga Din eats a bale of hay every fifteen minutes,” offers Dirty Shirt solemn-like.

“He--he does?”

“He--he do,” nods Dirty. “The last bale was two pounds short; so Gunga Din ate Hassayampa’s pants for dessert. Them there tigers will eat a whole cow for a meal and you know what cows are worth right now.”

“Magpie--” Wick is almost cryin’ by this time--“Magpie, I asks you as a friend--what’ll I do?”

“Have patience, Wickie.”

“Have ----! I’ll go down there and massacree all three of them monstrosities, that’s what I’ll do, by gosh!”

“And lose yore thousand dollars, eh?” Magpie shakes his head. “Wick Smith, you ain’t hardly fit to help us build up Piperock.”

“It’s for the glory of our fair city,” says Buck.

Wick turns around and walks out. He’s kinda all choked up, but I know danged well it ain’t emotion. Me and Dirty feels that the fair city of Piperock ain’t so badly in need of our assistance; so we saddles up our rollin’ stock and goes to Paradise town.

* * * * *

Paradise runs a dead heat with Piperock, as far as city is concerned. When P. T. Barnum said that a fool is born every minute, he might have added that they were all pointed toward Yellowrock County.

We finds several of the above in Mike Pelly’s saloon, and among them is “Chuck” Warner, “Muley” Bowles, “Telescope” Tolliver and Henry Clay Peck. These four disgraces are from the Cross J ranch, but claims Paradise as their native haunt. Also we finds “Liniment” Lucas and “Tombstone” Todd and “Hard-Pan” Hawkins.

Tombstone is so tough that he can wear tight boots on his bunions, and “Hard-Pan” Hawkins keeps books on his crimes. Tombstone draws me aside and gnaws on one end of his mustache, while he cuffs his sombrero plentiful.

“Ike,” says he hoarse-like, “what’s this I’m hearin’ about the hamlet of Piperock? Somebody was a-tellin’ me that they’ve convened up there to respectablize the town somewhat.”

“It’s kinda hard to per-fume the rose,” says I.

Tombstone gnaws a little more and fights his hat.

“Yeah, I s’pose that’s right, Ike. Are you and Dirty Shirt part and parcel of this here movement?”

“Not knowin’ly, Tombstone,” says I. “You can speak to me with perfect confidence and go away feelin’ that I won’t exaggerate what you’ve told me.”

“There has been braggin’ goin’ on,” stated Tombstone. “If there’s anythin’ Paradise hates it’s braggin’. Piperock orates that she’s leapin’ ahead like a bee-stung bear. She ain’t, Ike. It jist ain’t no ways possible for her to leap thataway. She ain’t active like Paradise. We’re able to do things.

“Whereabouts in ---- does Piperock compare with Paradise, I asks yuh to answer honestly? She don’t. We’ve got spirit, climate and brain power. We’ve got courageous men, wimmin and children. Why, our offspring are equal to two grown men of Piperock. We’ve got everythin’, Ike.”

“Except a elephant, a camel and a tiger,” says I.

“What’s them amount to?”

“And a Chamber of Commerce, Tombstone.”

“Mm-m-m, yeah. Well?”

“Well--right back at yuh. I never started this argument.”

“It ain’t no argument, Ike,” he explains. “Paradise is the legitimate place for them things. We could do it up right.”

Tombstone invites me back to the bar, which I accepts. Dirty is arguin’ with the Cross J outfit and Liniment Lucas, and from Dirty’s talk I’d gather that he’s body and soul with Piperock.

“From this day henceforth, Piperock shall rossom like a blose,” orates Dirty Shirt. “The people of Piperock have rosin in their might, and we are comin’ out into the dight of a lew day. And if that ain’t a ---- of a lot to say at once, I’ll eat the garment that made me what I am today.”

From that time on things get kinda hazy. Mike Pelly peddles a brand that would make a cotton-tail rabbit grow fangs in his mouth and rattles on his tail. I’m led to understand that Paradise is jealous of Piperock, and that Paradise hankers for them three animals, like a calf hankerin’ for its ma.

Me and Dirty balances on the edge of the sidewalk in front of Mike’s place and begins to cheer for Piperock, when some careless son of a gun moved a heavy chair plumb out of Mike’s doorway and it hits me and Dirty Shirt at the same time.

And when we woke up we finds ourselves in jail. Hank Padden, our estimable sheriff, tells us that we’re in jail for disturbin’ the peace.

“You be ----!” wails Dirty Shirt. “Paradise never had no peace to disturb. I can prove it to any judge, jury or collection of folks which has two ideas above a monkey.”

“I done my duty,” says Hank firm-like. “I was hired for this kind of work. You’ll prob’ly git six months apiece.”

This was sure cheerin’ news. The Paradise jail don’t feed none too good. We had a idea that Piperock would arise in its wrath and come down to drag us forth--but they didn’t. I sent word to Magpie, and he answered it.

I sent him this word--

Me and Dirty Shirt are in jail for upholdin’ Piperock.

And this is what he sent to me--

Good for you. We appreciate yore civic pride.

He didn’t sign his name, but he didn’t need to. I _sabe_ that _hombre_ like a book. Dirty gets kinda gloomy over it all and swears that he’s all through with Piperock. Right there and then I adds my voice to his.

“If that’s patriotism,” says Dirty, “gimme death. Our own town has turned us down, Ike Harper. I didn’t think they’d do it. And they wouldn’t, if they wasn’t gettin’ civilized.”

A little later on cometh Chuck Warner, Liniment Lucas and Testament Tilton.

“You can take the preacher back,” says Dirty. “We ain’t in for murder, you know.”

“I’m not in my clerical capacity,” says Testament. “Be ye both of good cheer.”

“---- of a fine chance, the way Hank runs his place here,” snorts Dirty.

“I’ve been up to Piperock,” says Chuck, wigglin’ his ears. Chuck’s got flexible ears and he can wiggle ’em like a mule.

“And nobody shot yuh?” gasps Dirty. “My gosh, they’re sure gittin’ forgivin’, Chuck.”

“They ain’t no friends to you two,” says Chuck seriouslike. “They’re glad yo’re in jail down here.”

Chuck Warner is the biggest liar west of the Atlantic Ocean--but this time I believed him.

“Magpie and Wick Smith hope yuh stay in jail,” says he.

“It kinda looks like they’d git their hopes,” Dirty acts kinda mournful.

“It kinda does,” agrees Liniment.

He’s got one of them long, wet-lookin’ noses and sad eyes. I reckon his folks intended him to be a undertaker, but Old Lady Fate had “horse-thief” marked after his name in the Big Book.

“Is this here a party of condolence, or did yuh come to gloat?” I asks. I hate like ---- to have folks lookin’ at me through the bars.

“Condolence and good cheer,” says Testament, hitchin’ up his pants. “You might call it a parley. I will go now, as it would not be meet for me to be party to it. Not that I ain’t in accord with it entirely, you understand.”

“It sure must be a tough proposition to drive you away,” observed Dirty.

Old Testament pulled out, Hank unlocks the cell door, and they all comes in.

And what follered kinda touched upon my heart-strings. It was Chuck’s idea. I listened to Chuck, Hank and Liniment Lucas, as they unfolds what’s on their minds. It has been said that every man has his price. Ours was one elephant, one camel and a tiger.

They wants us to steal them three animals for Paradise. All we’ve got to do is to hand ’em over to Paradise and all is forgiven. But they’re square about it, at that; they will pay Wick Smith what he paid for ’em; and give us a hundred apiece.

“And Piperock ain’t treated you two square,” says Chuck.

“Thassall right,” says I, “but yuh can’t get away with anything like that, Chuck. It wouldn’t be hard for Piperock to prove that they owned ’em, ’cause they’re all there is of the species in Yaller Rock County.”

“We’ve fixed that all up,” says Chuck. “Don’tcha worry about that end of it. You fellers go back home, feelin’ sore at Paradise, and nobody will expect yuh to raid the zoo; _sabe_?”

* * * * *

When we went home, after swearin’ to do our little best, and we finds Magpie in the shack, composin’ some more stuff. We don’t say nothin’ about his kind note to us, and he don’t mention it to us.

“Still tryin’ to uplift Piperock on paper?” I asks.

“Combatin’ a evil influence, Ike. We are the pioneers--others foller. Some one is tryin’ to steal our thunder.”

“You got plenty of it,” declares Dirty. “They could swipe a lot of it from you and still leave enough for a dozen men.”

“Sarcasm is the weapon of the ignorant,” says Magpie. “What heard ye in Paradise?”

“Nothin’ much.”

“No? Huh. Did yuh know that Paradise is emulatin’ us--or is goin’ to?”

“All fools ain’t dead yet,” opines Dirty Shirt.

“They’ve ordered a elephant, camel and a tiger,” says Magpie. “They’re payin’ a big price for ’em, just to keep Piperock from leadin’ the procession. Telescope Tolliver and Muley Bowles told us about it today. Telescope said he thought we ought to know about it.”

“Yeah, we heard about it,” says Dirty Shirt, kinda off-handed like. “It didn’t mean nothin’ to us.”

“Well, we’re holdin’ a indignation meetin’ tomorrow night,” says Magpie. “We aims to protest openly against such practise. It ain’t ethical. You and Ike be there, will yuh? Up in the Mint Hall. The ladies auxiliary will be there, et cettery. We don’t wish for blood to be spilled. It’s ag’in our principles and regulations; but, by grab, they’ll go too far pretty soon--and have to get helped back.”

The next day is kinda quiet in Piperock; but when Piperock is quiet she’s dangerous. Wick Smith ain’t at the store, and Mrs. Smith ain’t got much use for me and Dirty; so we keep away. After samplin’ some wobble water we pilgrims down to the livery-stable to see how Hassayampa is comin’.

But we don’t find Hassayampa in charge. Wick Smith meets us at the door, and he looks as wise as a owl.

“Whatcha want?” he asks.

“Whatcha got?” asks Dirty.

Wick clears his throat kinda hoarse-like.

“I’ve got civic pride, by ----!”

“You’ve showed it, Wick,” says I.

“Uh-huh. If I had more sense and less pride I’d be better off. Hassayampa Harris hands me a bill for thirty-six dollars’ worth of feed--and I got so ---- full of pride that I kicked him out and took charge.

“My ----, that elephant is jist like a hay-baler. Yuh can’t fill it up, I tell yuh. And he was feedin’ Cleo-patree meat! Can yuh beat that? Cleo-patree is the tiger. That son of a gun has cost me one hundred dollars per stripe.”

“Wick,” says I, “wouldst be rid of ’em?”

Wick looks at me for quite a while, spits painful-like and nods slowly.

“Wouldst.”

“I can get yuh a thousand dollars for the layout.”

“Ike, I hope yuh ain’t lyin’ to me.”

“C. O. D.,” says I.

“That’s the joker,” says he kinda wailin’. “C. O. D., eh? How in ---- can yuh deliver a thing like these, I’d ask you? Half of Piperock is guardin’ this here stable. Over across the street is Pete Gonyer. Farther down the street is Mighty Jones, and up the other way is Olaf Hansen. One of them three has his eye on this place. They’re watchin’ to see that Paradise don’t come and take them things away.

“And at night they’re guardin’ this place with sawed-off shotguns. They heard that Paradise was goin’ to take away the menagerie; that’s what they heard.”

“It’s kinda easy to see why Paradise wants to shift the job to me and Dirty Shirt Jones,” says I. “Can’t yuh do as yuh want to with yore own animals?”

“I can’t,” wails Wick. “Magpie got me drunk, Judge Steele wrote out a option--and I signed it. I can’t sell until thirty days after Labor Day. By that time I’ll be in the poor house.”

“What do these here animals look like?” asks Dirty.

Wick leads up back in the stable and makes us used to the dangdest lookin’ trio of animals I ever seen. Cleopatra is in a cage on wheels, and if there ever was a meaner-lookin’ tiger I’ve never seen it. She’s jist skin and bones and a big mouth full of teeth.

The camel opens his mouth and grins at us, kinda asthmatic-like. His name is Sahara, and he looks like ----. If it wasn’t for his humps he’d look like a moth-eaten burro.

“Here’s the _e pluribus peritonitis_,” says Wick, pointin’ at the next stall. “There stands Gunga Din. I tied the son of a gun up a while ago.”

We steps over and takes a close look. It’s kinda dark in that stall.

_Whap!_

Somethin’ hit me in the face and I done a foot-race backward plumb to the rear door, where I hits my shoulders first, followed by the rest of my anatomy, makin’ a sound like the couplin’-up of an engine on a train of cars. Kinda _clunkety, clinkety, clank_!

Through the haze I sees Dirty Shirt fade out through the front doorway, and I seen Wick Smith climb up a post, where he hangs harness. He got hold of the harness peg and tries to lift himself up; but the peg busted and he landed back on the floor under two sets of heavy harness.

I got up and went weavin’ down the stable, feelin’ kinda light and airy. I seen Wick come up from under that harness and go gallopin’ out of the place with a horse collar around his neck and a set of tugs sailin’ out behind, holdin’ a hame in each hand, like a man carryin’ two flags.

I fell down twice before I got outside, where I found Dirty and Wick. Wick got a tug caught in the sidewalk and ain’t got sense enough to let loose of the hame. There he is, yankin’ and haulin’, while Dirty is standin’ in front of him, legs wide apart, wavin’ his hat in Wick’s face and yellin’.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, you ---- fool!”

I fell over the tug and sat down on the edge of the sidewalk. Dirty manages to get Wick calmed down, and we looks each other over. Dirty has got a pair of sleeves on, but no shirt. His jiggly eye does a lot of cavortin’, as he looks at me.

“I never expected to see any of us alive,” says he.

“You don’t need to start cheerin’,” says I. “What in ---- was the matter, Wick?”

“Ignorance!” snorts Dirty. “If I didn’t know any more natural history than that I’d hang my head in shame, Wick. You tied him up, did yuh? Well, by golly you ort to find out which is the head end of a elephant. You tied him by the tail.”

“Well, I-I-I-I tut-tied him,” wails Wick. “Ends don’t mean nothin’ to me. They both hang down. The only danged way I can tell which is which is to give it some hay and see which end turns toward it. He didn’t kill either one of yuh, did he?”

“Don’t give Gunga Din any credit,” says I. “If that back door hadn’t been shut I’d be in Canada right now. Go back and make pets of them things, if you must, but spare me from havin’ anythin’ more to do with ’em.”

We helped Wick back into the stable, stole a bottle of horse liniment and went home to recuperate. Dirty walks like his rudder was cramped just a little, and I’m kinda reared back to take the strain off my shoulders, hips and ankles.

* * * * *

It was kinda late that evenin’ when me and Dirty limped up to the Mint Hall and found Piperock assembled. Magpie is on the platform, and the argument seems to be gettin’ warm. On the platform with him is Mrs. Wick Smith and Miss Jasmine Greenbaum. When she sees us, she hops off the platform, comes and leads me and Dirty up to the front of the room and asks us to sit down.

“These two gentlemen have offered to help me in this,” says she. “They have the interests of Piperock at heart. I know they are brave and full of courage, and for that reason I have selected them.”

“Brave and full of courage!” snorts Yuma Yates. “Full of rheumatism, from the way they walk.”

“I’m goin’ to remember most everythin’ I hear said here,” says Dirty. “That’s remark number one, Yuma.”

“My list shows number one for Yuma Yates,” says I.

Magpie hitches up his belt and moves to the edge of the platform, where he glares at me and Dirty Shirt.

“Threats are out of order,” he tells us. “Piperock is passin’ from such things. From now onward we are promoters of brotherly love--not battle. Heed this and save yourself trouble. We welcome both to the fold, and thank yuh for offerin’ yore assistance to Miss Greenbaum. Sincerely yours, Piperock Chamber of Commerce.”

“In reply to yore letter of today,” says I, “I can say that yore fold don’t appeal to us; so am sendin’ it back by return mail. Sincerely yours, Ike Harper and Dirty Shirt Jones. P. S. And if you don’t know what I mean--ask us.”

Magpie glares at us for several moments and then turns to Miss Jasmine.

“Miss Greenbaum,” says he, “I told you that I was sure them two jiggers was drunk when they offered to help yuh. Probably they’ll deny ever sayin’ it now.”

Dirty Shirt hops to his feet.

“Magpie Simpkins, yo’re a--a--exaggeratin’ things. By golly, we said we’d help Miss Greenbaum, and we’ll do it. Anythin’ she asks us to do is jist the same as done. Ain’t that right, Ike?”

“Well,” says I, “I hate to have anybody doubt that I don’t know what I’m sayin’--drunk or sober. I’m with you, Dirty.”

“I knew it,” says Miss Greenbaum. “I knew they would do it for me. It isn’t often that I make a mistake in human nature. When I first saw these two gentlemen, something told me that they were to be depended upon. Mr. Harper and Mr. Jones, I thank you.”

“Yo’re welcome,” says Dirty. “You sure are awful welcome.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that part of it, I move that we adjourn. Tomorrow will be spent in preparin’ things. We’ve got a lot of work to do. ‘Scenery,’ you’ll bring yore autymobile in tomorrow?”

Scenery Sims admits that he will. Scenery is a little, thin son of a gun, with a E-string voice, and owns the only horseless vehicle in Yaller Rock County.

“The ladies will be busy on their costumes,” says Magpie, “and there will be much decoratin’ to be did. The time is kinda short to complete all the details; but it is goin’ to be the biggest thing ever pulled off in the West. Our grandchildren will be proud of us.”

“Yours won’t be,” says Dirty Shirt.

It’s kind of a mean remark, bein’ as Magpie never was married. Nobody laughed, but those directly behind us kinda eased themselves aside out of the line of fire.

Magpie shook his head and polished the nail of his trigger finger on his right ear.

“We’ve got to be meek,” says he. “‘The meek shall inherit the earth.’”

“That won’t be a ---- of a lot of fun, if there ain’t nothin’ but meek ones left,” says I.

“There’ll be a ---- of a lot of earth to divide, too,” says Dirty Shirt.

And that’s all we knew about the meetin’. I’ve got a hunch that Dirty spoke up too quick. I told him that they’ve been arguin’ about me and him before we got there, but he don’t care. There ain’t a chance to steal them animals for Paradise, even if we was so inclined--which we ain’t--so we decided to let nature take its course.

Early the next mornin’ we finds Magpie paintin’ a big sign. He ain’t noways artistic, but readable. At the top is one word, in letters two feet high--

PAGEANT

And just below that is two more big words--

OF PROGRESS

“What’s that, Magpie?” asks Dirty Shirt.

“Depictin’,” says Magpie, wipin’ some black paint out of his mustache, “the progress of Piperock. Pageant means a high-toned parade. There has been parades before, but this is the first pageant. If you two fellers will go up to Wick Smith’s house you’ll prob’ly find Mrs. Smith and Miss Greenbaum workin’ on yore costumes. They was goin’ to make ’em first thing today.”

“Our costumes?” I asks. “Whyfor costumes for us, Magpie?”

“Have to have ’em, Ike.”

“Oh, well, if we have to have ’em.”

Me and Dirty spells out the next thing on the list:

WHEN EAST MEETS WEST THE EAST IS AMAZED AT THE PROGRESS OF THE WEST THEY MINGLE LIKE BROTHERS THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN VICTORY THE SPIRIT OF PIPEROCK--PROGRESS DON’T FORGET THE BIG DANCE AT THE MINT HALL THATCHER’S COMBINED ORCHESTRA WILL FURNISH THE STRAINS AND SCENERY SIMS WILL DO THE CALLIN’ COME ONE AND ALL TWO DOLLARS PER EACH WILL COVER THE PAGEANT AND DANCE PIPEROCK CHAMBER OF COMMERCE MAGPIE SIMPKINS, President

We found Wick Smith at the store. He hoodled Hassayampa into takin’ charge of the animals again and is runnin’ his own store; but he ain’t cheerful.

“Tomorrow is Labor Day,” says he with tears in his voice. “I ort to be happy, I s’pose, ’cause the proceeds of the pag-unt is to help pay me for them animals; but somehow I can’t seem to rend the veil, as Old Testament says, and see the silver linin’.”

“Aw, it’ll be all right,” says Dirty. “Parades ain’t much to worry about.”

“Thasso?” Wick squints at Dirty. “You’ve survived some of our parades, ain’t yuh, Dirty?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to figure that Piperock is civilized. It ain’t noways what she used to be, Wick. Right now Piperock is meek and mild.”

“I’ll betcha,” nods Wick. “Well, I still has hopes, but--I dunno. I can’t quite figure out my wife lookin’ like a statoo of Victory, nor I can’t figure out Mrs. Pete Gonyer and Mrs. Mighty Jones depictin’ Progress. My ----, my wife don’t look like Victory.”

“You ain’t never won a battle from her yet, have yuh?” I asks.

“No, that’s a cinch. Well, mebbe it’ll be all right. You fellers ain’t got no easy chore yoreselves.”

“We ain’t?” I asks. “What have we got to do with it, Wick?”