Alfred Lewis - Sandburrs and Others

But alas! As Hamilton Finnerty opened the door of the Ville Finnerty the butler sawed off a cablegram upon him. It was from Isabelle Imogene McSween to Hamilton Finnerty’s cable address of “Hamfinny.”

As Hamilton Finnerty read the fatal words, he fell all over himself with a dull, sickening thud. And well he might! The message threw the boots into the last hope of Hamilton Finnerty. It read as follows:

Hamfinny: – Miscreant! Villain! A friend put me onto your skip from Liverpool. It was a hobo trick. But I broke even with you. I was dead aware that you might do a sneak at the last minute, and was organised with a French Count up me sleeve; see! Me wedding came off just the same. Me hubby’s a bute! I call him Papa, and he’s easy money. Hoping to see you on me return, nit, and renew our acquaintance, nit, I am yours, nit.

Isabelle Imogene McSween-Marat de Rochetwister.

Outside the Ville Finnerty swept the moaning winds, dismal with November’s prophecy of snow. At intervals the election idiot blew his proud horn in the neighbouring thoroughfare. It was nearly morning when the doctor said, that, while Hamilton Finnerty’s life would be spared, he would be mentally dopey the balance of his blighted days.

Short Creek Dave was one of Wolfville’s leading citizens. In fact his friends would not have scrupled at the claim that Short Creek Dave was a leading citizen of Arizona. Therefore when the news came over from Tucson that Short Creek Dave, who had been paying that metropolis a breezy visit, had, in an advertant moment, strolled within the radius of a gospel meeting then and there prevailing, and suffered conversion, Wolfville became spoil and prey to some excitement.

“I tells him,” said Tutt, who brought the tidings, “not to go tamperin’ ‘round this yere meetin’. But he would have it. He simply keeps pervadin’ about the ‘go-in’ place, an’ it looks like I can’t herd him away. Says I: ‘Dave, you don’t onderstand this yere game they’re turnin’ inside. Which you keep out a whole lot, you’ll be safer!’ But warnin’s ain’t no good; Short Creek don’t regard ‘em a little bit.”

“This yere Short Creek is always speshul obstinate that a-way,” said Dan Boggs, “an’ he gets moods frequent when he jest won’t stay where he is nor go anywhere else. I don’t marvel none you don’t do nothin’ with him.”

“Let it go as it lays!” observed Cherokee Hall, “I reckons Short Creek knows his business, an* can protect himse’f in any game they opens on him. I ain’t my-se’f none astonished by these yere news. I knows him to do some mighty locoed things, sech as breakin’ a pair to draw to a three-flush; an’ it seems like he’s merely a pursooin’ of his usual system in this relig’ous lunge. However, he’ll be in Wolfville to-morry, an’ then we’ll know a mighty sight more about it; pendin’ of which let’s irrigate. Barkeep, please inquire out the beverages for the band!”

Those of Wolfville there present knew no cause to pursue the discussion so pleasantly ended, and drew near the bar. The debate took place in the Red Light, so, as one observed on the issuance of Cherokee’s invitation: “They weren’t far from centres.”

Cherokee himself was a suave suitor of fortune who presided behind his own faro game. Reputed to possess a “straight” deal box, he held high place in the Wolfville breast.

Next day; and Wolfville began to suffer an increased exaltation. Feeling grew nervous as the time for the coming of the Tucson stage approached. An outsider might not have detected this fever. It found its evidence in the unusual activity of monte, high ball, stud and kindred relaxations. Faro, too, displayed some madness of spirit.

At last out of the grey and heat-shimmer of the plains a cloud of dust announced the coming of the stage. Chips were cashed and games cleaned up, and presently the population of Wolfville stood in the street to catch as early a glimpse as might be of the converted one.

“I don’t reckon now he’s goin’ to look sech a whole lot different neither!” observed Faro Nell. She stood near Cherokee Hall, awaiting the coming stage.

“I wonder would it ‘go’ to ask Dave for to drink?” said Tutt, in a tone of general inquiry.

“Shore!” argued Dan Boggs; “an’ why not?”

“Oh, nothin’ why not!” replied Tutt, as he watched the stage come up; “only Dave’s nacherally a peevish person that a-way, an’ I don’t reckon now his enterin’ the fold has redooced the restlessness of that six-shooter of his’n, none whatever.”

“All the same,” said Cherokee Hall, “p’litenes ‘mong gents should be observed. I asks this yere Short Creek to drink so soon as ever he arrives; an’ I ain’t lookin’ to see him take it none invidious, neither.” With a rattle of chains and a creaking of straps the stage and its six high-headed horses pulled up at the postoffice door. The mail bags were kicked off, the express boxes tumbled into the street, and in the general rattle and crash the eagerly expected Short Creek Dave stepped upon the sidewalk.

There was possibly a more eager scanning of his person in the thought that the great inward change might have its outward evidences; a more vigorous shaking of his hand, perhaps; but beyond these, curious interest did not go. Not a word nor a look touching Short Creek’s religious exploits betrayed the question tugging at the Wolfville heart. Wolfville was too polite. And, again, Wolfville was too cautious. Next to horse-stealing, curiosity is the greatest crime. It’s worse than crime, it’s a blunder. Wolfville merely expressed its polite satisfaction in Short Creek Dave’s return, and took it out in handshaking. The only incident worth record was when Cherokee Hall observed in a spirit of bland but experimental friendship:

“I don’t reckon, Dave, you-all is objectin’ to whiskey none after your ride?”

“Which I ain’t done so usual,” observed Dave cheerfully, “but this yere time, Cherokee, I’ll have to pass. Confidin’ the trooth to you-all, I’m some off on nose-paint now. I’m allowin’ to tell you the win-an’-lose tharof later on. Now, if you-alls will excuse me, I’ll go wanderin’ over to the O. K. House an’ feed myse’f a whole lot.”

“I shore reckons he’s converted!” said Tutt, and he shook his head gloomily. “I wouldn’t care none, only it’s me as prevails on Dave to go over to Tucson that time; an’ so I feels responsible.”

“Whatever of it?” responded Dan Boggs, with a burst of energy, “I don’t see no reecriminations comin’, nor why this yere’s to be regarded. If Dave wants to be relig’ous an’ sing them hymns a heap, you bet! that’s his American right! I’ll gamble a hundred dollars, Dave splits even with every deal, or beats it. I’m with Dave; his system does for me, every time!”

The next day the excitement began to subside. Late in the afternoon a notice posted on the postoffice door caused it to rise again. The notice announced that Short Creek Dave would preach that evening in the warehouse of the New York Store.

“I reckons we-alls better go!” said Cherokee Hall. “I’m goin’ to turn up my box an’ close the game at first drink time this evenin’, an’ Hamilton says he’s out to shut up the dance hall, seein’ as how several of the ladies is due to sing a lot in the choir. We-alls might as well turn loose an’ give Short Creek the best whirl in the wheel – might as well make the play to win, an* start him straight along the new trail.”

“That’s whatever!” agreed Dan Boggs. He had recovered from his first amazement, and now entered into the affair with spirit.