Jasper County Democrat, Volume 23, Number 59, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 October 1920 — COMRADES OF PERIL [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

COMRADES OF PERIL

By RANDALL PARRISH

CHAPTER I. .1 Return of the Wanderer. Shelby, alone in the buckboard, drove to the summit of the ridge, halting the broncs, as his eyes swept over the scene outspread below. The animals, their dusty sides streaked with sweat, stopped willingly after their sixty-mile trip from the Cottonwood. Below was a deep, narrow Valley, in the midst of which Ponca spread out along the bank of the creek that gave the town its name. To Shelby, wearied with the dull plains, here was a scene of beauty. Just beyond there was life, fresh, luxuriant, sweet; running water, luscious green grass, and above all, that which he craved most, human companionship. To be sure, he knew Ponca of old, and possessed no Illusions. Ugly, dirty, unkempt, Ponca made no pretense to either cleanliness, or respectability; it possessed no pride, no hope of a future. It seemed to recognize its destiny, and be content, a mere mushroom town of the frontier, an adjunct of the cattle trade, permitted to flourish today, but as certainly doomed to perish tomorrow. The man who sat there on the ridge gazing down, the reins held idly in his hand, his eyes following the winding of the valley, was a perfectly natural part of the picture —he belonged. Beneath the tan and dust was a smoothly shaven face, a face of twenty-five, or twenty-six, the features strong, nose somewhat prominent, lips firm and full, with dark-gray eyes shadowed by heavy lashes. In truth, he appeared all man, a certain reckless gayety about him not to be mistaken, yet as evidently not to be lightly taken advantage of. “It certainly beats h —l,” he muttered, unconsciously aloud, “that a nan should dream about visiting a SnOuinp like this. Shows what sort o’ /place Cottonwood is to make a fellow ** homesick for Ponca. Town looks kinder dead; no cattle in the corrals. H —l, what’s the difference? There’ll be some of the old bunch hangin’ ’round, an’ we’ll make things hum for awhile. Come, broncs, jog along 1 Let’s show Ponca we’re a live outfit 1” It was a rough, curving descent, the trail in places barely wide enough for the wheels, but the driver never lost control, guiding the broncos with expert hand, until they finally swung about the edge of a great rock at the bottom, and went charging at full gallop into the main street To better express the exuberance of his feelings at this return to civilization, and announce his arrival, Shelby whipped out his gun and began shattering the atmosphere, driving the animals frantic as the sharp reports rang out over their backs. But if any sensation was expected, It signally failed to materialise. Ponca remained deserted, and unimpressed. Long experience had either rendered the inhabitants indifferent to such a display, or else the town had gone utterly dead. The silence and desolation caused Shelby to utter an oath, and suddenly swing his team up to a hitching rack in front of McCarthy’s saloon, the door of which stood invitingly open. An Instant the perplexed driver sat there, staring grimly about from end to end of the deserted street. “What the h—1!” he ejaculated at last, “is up anyhow? Is this a graveyard I’ve got into? Lord, it can’t be all the boys have got out; but something is sure dead wrong. Well, Mac’s open anyhow. I’ll go in and find out.’’ He sprang out over the wheel, stiffened from the long ride, yet "standfog erect nevertheless, and strode up the saloon steps and in through the open door. He had expected a welcome and this strange lack of interest on the part of the citizens of Ponca had already considerably chilled his enthusiasm. Once inside, he stopped, staring about In even deeper perplexity. The big saloon was absolutely empty of patrons —the tables were unoccupied ; no one was lined up in front of the'long bar, and no sound of voices or of poker chips came down from the room above. The place seemed like a huge grave, and, for a brief moment, he even failed to perceive Its only occupant —a red-mustached bartender in front of the mirror, Industriously rubbing the immaculate glass. Thoroughly angered by this time, Shelby advanced, his footsteps mbflled by the sawdust on the floor. “What the h —l is the matter with this dump?” he demanded savagely, his fist thumping the bar. “Oh, so it’s „ you, is it, Moran? Well, are you- all ) that’s left in Ponca?” j , The red-mustached ope turned soBifferently, yet managed to extend a rather limp hand in fraternal greeting; “That’s ’bout the size of it, Tom," he admitted gravely., “Where yer been the last six months?” “Over on the Cottonwood, ranching.

Say, I ain’t seen nothin’ but dogs since I struck this valley. What’s up? Ponca gone on the bum?” “No; she’s all right mostly. Be alj right tomorrow, I reckon, fer Hitchcock’s outfit’s cornin’ in with a bunch o’ steers. What’ll yer drink 7’ “Best yer’ve got, o’ course. That looks a bit like old times, an’ tastes like it Take a snort with me, Moran. Where’s Mac, an’ all the boys, any how?” “Out ter the funeral; that’s what’s the matter with this town. The whole kit an’ caboodle gone across the creek to help plant old Dad Calkins. You remember Old Dad?” “No, can’t say I do; what was he, a gambler?” * “Kind of a tin-horn; soused most o’ the time but still everybody liked him; pretended ter be a blacksmith when he first come, an’ put up a shack down there next the hotel. Never worked mor’n three days to my knowledge since—just naturally bummed ’round, but he Was a h —l of a good story-tell-er, an’ the boys cottoned to him. Sure, yer must have knowed him.” Shelby shook his head. “What did he die from?” “Shot himself, I reckon. He was picked up over back o’ the dance hall, with a bullet in his nut an’ a gun in his hand. The girl was huntin’ for him, ’cause he didn’t come home, an’ so Dan he went along with her. The two of ’em found him out there.” “What girl?" “Daughter, I s’pose. She’s been yere kinder keepin’ house ever since I first knew the cuss.” “How old is she?” “I ain’t no jedge o’ females’ ages, if yer ask me, but maybe sixteen or seventeen. Quite a wisp of a gurl first I saw her, but she don’t make up with nobody; sorter sullen-like, an’ just stays ter home all the time.” “Where’d you say all this rumpus was goln’ on?” “Over cross the creek, beyond that bunch o’ willows. You know where the graveyard is. Goin’ ter be some obsequies, you bet. Dan he went clear to Buffalo Gap for ter git a preacher ter do the thing up swell. What’s the matter with yer goin’ over there, Tom, an’ takin’ the show in? Dan’ll be be mighty pleased ter see yer horn In.” Shelby helped himself to another drink and gazed disconsolately about the big, desolated room. “I reckon I’ll turn the broncs into Davis’ corral, an’ then amble along,” he said slowly. “Even a funeral’s better than this dump today.” waded the shallow waters and reached the edge of the willows before his eyes distinguished the crowd gathered in the open space beyond. It was surely some funeral; there was no doubt about that A mass of men stood there, bare-beaded in the sunshine, and beyond them, on a little knoll, a small bunch of women were crowded together, girls from the dance hall mostly, judging from their clothes and faces, although ohe or two older women were at the farther end. Shelby caught a glipmse of the expreacher, elevated on a box, and his ears caught the sonorous words of exhortation with which he ended his sermon. There followed a faint applause, checked Instantly by McCarthy, who politely requested the bunch to stop making d—d fools of themselves, and Immediately announced that the Ponca male quartette would sing “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” after which those who desired would be given the opportunity to view for the last time the features of the departed. As the last dulcet strains of the hymn rolled away, McCarthy, as though anxious to preserve the Ilves of the singers by quick action, pushed his way once again to the front. “Now, you bucks,” he roared out tersely, “line up along them willows. Pll go first with the daughter as chief mourners, an* then the females will fall in behind. After that the rest of yer can mosey along. We’re goln’ ter do this up in some style, an’ it ain’t Just goln’ to be showin’ proper respect fer the dead, but we’re agoln’ ter remember the orphaned and the fatherless. Thet’s the way Ponca does business. Now, chip In, gents ; there’s a box there at the head of the corpse, an’ after yer’ve had a squint at Ql’ Dad cough up something fer the gurt." Shelby dropped Into place behind the stage agent, who recognized the newcomer with a hard handgrip and grin of welcome. “Just blow in? We’re givln’ Old Calkins the time o’ his career; owed me a hundred, but what the h—l do I care! Know the ol’ Cuss?” “No; I ju'st dropped around fer to pass away the time. Some spouter that fat preacher.” “Ain’t he, though!” admiringly. “He sure shot off some language I never did hear afore. Yer heard our quartette, I reckon?” ) “Heard it! Not being altogether deaf t I did; 4 Hullo, ! the procession is

about to start—so that’s Old Calkins’ girl, is it?” _ The stage agent nodded. “Yep; not so darned much to look at, either. I don’t reckon I’ve seen her afore fer a year.” Shelby could not have described what there was about the girl to interest him even slightly. As Mike said, there was not much to look at, and what there was had been rendered particularly hideous by the 111-flttiag black dress in which she was dressed. She walked well, and she held her head straight up, a bit defiantly, looking neither to right nor left as McCarthy led her forward by a grasp on one arm. The corners of her mouth drooped a trifle and her hair was drawn straight back and bound in a wisp. Altogether she made a rather pathetic picture, and this somehow impressed Shelby. He watched her stop at the head of the opened casket and look down at the face of the dead man. There was no sign of a tear, no semblance of a sob, and

then she moved on with no change perceptible in her face, outwardly unmoved. To all appearances her only desire was to have the affair ended and be left alone. Shelby passed and stared down at the face in the casket, that of a man of sixty, possibly, yet exhibiting even in death the marka of a hard life which had unduly aged him. It was rather an Intelligent face, framed in a white beard, with the fragment of a scar showing on one cheek. There was something about the face strangely familiar, yet he could not recall the man to memory—some way the sight of him had turned his mind back to army days, yet the two would not connect themselves definitely. As he thrust his contribution into the box, McCarthy gripped him cordially. “Well, bless me, if here ain’t Tom Shelby, lookin’ like a. white man, and blowin’ his money like a good sport. How’s things on the Cottonwood? Fine as silk, hey? See yer later, Tom. No, yer don’t, Ramsay! You tried that game on me once before. Pm keepin’ cases here.” There was a moment’s delay, while Ramsay reluctantly dug down into his jeans for an amount satisfactory to the party in charge, and Shelby, still struggling with his elusive memory, bent over and asked hoarsely: “Say, Mac, who was this guy, anyway?’ “Old Dad, you mean? Furst I knew of the fellow was about three years ago, blacksmithin* down at Kelly’s camp. When that moved on he come up here, an’ has been hangin’ ’round ever since. Wa’n’t such a bad sort, ’cept when in liquor; a smart ol’ devil, too; read everything he could get hold of.” “Do you happen to know if he was ever In the army?” “Come to think of it, Tom, I do. Once when he was drunk, he showed me his discharge papers. Lemme see; h —l, yes—the ol’ cock wus a sergeant In the Sixth cavalry. That’s all right, Ramsay—pass along. Now, whose next; step up lively, boys.” Shelby drifted along with the line, which broke into, groups, waiting silently for the ceremonies to be concluded and the body lowered Into the grave before wending their way back to the delights of Ponca. The ranchman lingered with the others while the preacher solemnly; consigned the body to dust, but when he saw the quartette climbing back Into the wagon for a final song, he promptly joined a number who were attempting to escape. Shelby paused and glanced back; the distance was too great to distinguish faces, yet there was no mistaking the pathetic figure cf the girl standing in loneliness beside the still open grave. She had not particularly appealed to him before, but now his heart made vague response to her loneliness. It was doubtless this lingering memory which kept him away from McCarthy’s saloon during the next hour.He had lost his earlier inclination for a wild carouse in town, or any desire to renew old acquaintances at the bar. He was almost persuaded to load up in the morning, if he could find the hand he needed and drive back to Cot*jnwood. There was nothing in it, this getting drunk on vile whisky and blowing in all he had saved at faro. H—l; no! He needed every dollar to make the ranch pay and could not afford to be a d—n fool forever. Here

Is where he would quit. No doubt, he was honest enough in these Intentions, yet the mood passed away so completely that before night he was again with the gang and had stowed away sufficient liquid refreshments to completely overcome any lingering recollection of any higher purpose. In this happy condition Me finally wended his way across the street to the shelter of the hotel. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

There Was No Sign of a Tear.