The Oregon daily journal., December 21, 1919, Page 62, Image 62

THE . OREGON SUNDAY JOURNAL, PORTLAND, SUNDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 21, 1919.
- t
I p it Is tine that catting off the hands
of a Baxter Street clothier deprives
him of all- power of speech, what ar
gument -can a cowboy be expected to en
force if you take away his arms? The
"short, sharp" bark" of bis pistol, always
at hand, quick, faithful and vicious as a
watchdog. Is the colleague of his dispu
tation. It is the italics, the exclamation
point, the condition of his syllogistic
premises, and the umpire of his debate.
This, at least, is the case with the very
newest and roughest Western settlements.
Rapid City (the "city" being the star at
which the townspeople aimed, rather than
an Index of population) Rapid City was
an extreme example of these picturesque
but -unwholesome communities. The
alarming death-rate, Indeed, managed to
secure the town a certain amount of free
advertising, but even this was of a sort
that tended to Induce less immigration
than emigration.
The painful realization of this latter un
poetlc truth compelled the local marshal
to Issue a reluctant edict forbidding man,
woman, child, or broncho to "pack a gun"
within the vague limits of the city. He
was not blind to the heroic poetry of
staking a life on a tiny bullet, or the
dramatic Justice of an appeal to arms;
but he was there primarily to serve the
municipal advantage. So he nailed up his
manifesto with the revolutionary effect
of Luther's theses.
To the cow-punchers the act looked like
trespass upon personal liberty. Most of
them asked, with true Athenian spirit,
what was the real use of a . simple
democracy If a man couldn't take care of
himself and keep other similar fools off
his range, also? One or two of the more
sedate and learned held that the Marshal's
ultimatum was "uncons'tootional." Few
of them had much idea as to the exact
content of the sonorous term (has any
one?), but it plainly put the Marshal in a
bad light.
Yet none of the rank-blooming protests
fruited into active resistance. A pistol, in
the sensation-surfeited mind of the cow
puncher, is a mere personal ornament and
a' gaudy toy, or a lightning-thoughted des
pot, whose decisions are both terrible and
Irrevocable entirely according to the man
administering It.
Now the present incumbent ofthe mar
shalcy of Rapid City had won his exalted
position solely because no one could re
call a time when he had been either dila
tory for a fatal moment, or inaccurate for
n effective hair's-breadth, in his manipu
lation of that product of the American
desire for quick results.
So the cow-punchers took out their
revenge In oaths and threats against the
next election; and, from the very day af
ter the edict, the' place of the pistol knew
It no more. Men had a half-clad look and
a naked, defenseless feeling without their
customary armament. Many a hand ran
back to an unresponsive belt, and quarrels
wen tame and all unsatisfactory..
How was a man to prove his ownership
of an over-boiling ' "Jack-pot" with only
empty hands to verify his claim? How set
the tenderfoot to hopping in terpsichorean
terror? How avenge the lie direct with
out artillery? For fists are undignified
weapons on the frontier, and for use only
In unimportant squabbles, and as an in
troduction to the higher court procedure
of the revolver.
Every Rapid citizen knew for awhile
the uncanny feeling of helpless fear; was
timid of "declaring himself' and promul
gating his ability to lick all creation; was
timid of dogma and candor till his hungry
eye found his adversary likewise shorn of
pi st olio power. All the citizens walked
the town cold-splned and so frantic to
look, Janus-wlae, up the street and down,
that an obliging evolution must have de
veloped eyes in the back of their heads,
had nothing occurred to nullify the Mar
shal's ultimatum, and renew the good old
regime of the revolver, until its founda
tions should be battered down by the in
sipid acids of an effete civilization to
quote a local Fourth of July effusion.
Rapid City had managed to survive about
a week of this uncomfortable, negative
virtue, when Jesse Bolande, Esquire, rode
into town at about four of the afternoon.
He had been on his range all week, and
as ' he stood at the unmirrored bar of
"Keno Jim's Place," he listened to the
Dew state of affairs with many an oath of
Incredulous amaze. At his right side, ham
mer, to the front, swung his far-famed .44
extra long revolver. To demand it of hfm
would be calling on Hector to yield up his
lance and count himself tamed.
Indeed, had Hector come back from the
august companionship of the Shades and
stood there at the bar with Bolande, he
would have found the American towering
ever him, mora magnificent in every pro
portion. Into the grip of the Trojan's
famed iwprd Bolande's right paw could
not have cramped all Its fingers. Upon
Bolande's 1 great , legs the shin-plates of
the well-greaved Greeks would have hung
ridiculous with incompetence.
Though his training was not theirs, the
flesh-hulks of Roman gladiators would
have lumbered under his outstretched arm.
Numidlan cavalrymen would have been
flung off in ludicrous disgrace, a dozen dif
ferent ways In a dozen effective styles, by
the tricky broncho wrester Bolande clung
f , 'w' . -. . : : . - , . - , ( '1 -'',, , . . , ; , J
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to with amused nonchalance. Around his,
massy torso the cuirass of a crusader or
a Knight of the Table Round would have
gaped like the corsets of a society belle.
The great two-handed sword that Wal
lace waved with such dire force he could
.have brandished wfth one hand; he could
not have fitted both into the gripe-space.
Noi constriction, no tugging could have
fitted upon him the armor of the dough
tiest warriors so much sung of by the trou
badours. He was the product of all the
evolution their centuries of arduous train
ing had furthered.
So Bolande stood, lounging in relaxed
might across the grimy little bar, and
throwing Into his unseared throat glass
fuls of liquid fire that uncongealed lava
of a Western distillery-volcano. Suddenly
those at the window began to evince genu
ine excitement, a thing unusual in ' the
x more than socially blsrie cow-punchers,
whom a mortal combat hardly galvanizes.
One of them blurted out, smacking his
lips Valkyrie-wise in anticipation of mag
nificent battle: "Watch out, Bolande, the
Marshal's comin'."
Bolande shrugged his whole huge frame
in contemptuous indifference. Quick upon
this heralding came the Marshal's august
self. He paused Just inside the door and
blanked his eyes, an introduction to the
dusk of the low-browed room. In the twi
light he did not Impose a heroic figure.
His colossally Impressive power saluted
you only when the full day brought you a
glimpse of a jaw that was not square and
phlegmatic, but ,yet gaunt and nervously
firm; of eyes that did not waste their
ferocious steel in a set fierceness, and yet
gave hint of lurking demons. The Marshal
was hardly above medium height. The
Marshal was rather below medium weight.
His light bones were wrapped with steel
wire rather than ,wlth ponderous muscles
whose bulk is their own hindrance. The
Marshal wore a pistol at his side, ex-officlo.
His duty demanded it, and no man feared
Its misuse in the dove-like gentleness of
his unoffensed moods.
The Marshal and Bolande were old
friends. They had once moiled on a ragged
claim upon the mountains together; 'they
had stood back to back in skirmishes with
yelling savages in a howling wilderness.
. And now their youthful mistress, Adven
ture, had lost charm for them, and they
had drawn into the shell that a man in
his forties will protect with his life from
any encroachment, though he has .no de
sire to make it the base of excursions into
other men's preserves. But Bolande and
the Marshal were still good friends, bond
aged with the golden link of mutual remi
niscence. When tha Marshal entered the saloon,
he did not,.t first, see Bolande's revolver,
and there was an unrestrained cordiality in
the "How!" with which he greeted him,
while the warmth of Bolande's answer
strove with 'a pacificatory uneasiness.
When finally the glint of Bolande's dingy
weapon struggled through the smoke of the
room to the Marshal's eye, he said quietly,
that the others might not hear: "Jesse,
stick your gun behind the bar till you're
leavln' town. Cant let you tote youl
Irons In this man's town now."
"With Epic Equality aryl Speed
. . Perhaps there was too much of the city
official and too little of the friend in his
tone, for Bolande's look took on a hint of
rigor, and there was a tang of defiance in
bis tone as he tried to laugh out his,
"Ownln this place now, are you. Mar
shal?" There was too little subtility In Bo
lande's intonation to deceive the Marshal
In its portent, and he flung back a sharp
reply, "Any skin off you, if I do?" '
And Bolande calmed before the other's
. frank resentment and shrugging himself
again, murmured, "Nope. But tharll be
some off the man that tries to take my
gun away." .
Almost pleadingly the quiescent Mar
shal answered: "Jesse, I'll give you till
six o'clock to put up that gun, or pull your
freight out of'this?'
Still more unassumingly, but still more
firmly, Bolande answered: "You'll find me
right here at six. Bring your nerve with
you, Marshal. Have a drink?"
"Don't mind if I do, Jesse. Here's
how'!" and they drained the martrydom
with unflinching gusto. Then the Marshal
turned to leave, and Bolando sang out,
vlth no whit of banter in his tone:
"So long, Marshal! Six o'clock, is it?"
"Six, Jesse," he answered, with as much
of tender appeal in his voice as was pos
sible in a throat made brass with the raw
Western air, and a heart grown flinty with
years of concealed, repressed, and thereby
little-known emotion. "Better think it
over, Jesse."
Bolande only answered half apologeti
cally: "I'm not heavy on the think," and
retrieved himself from tenderness with a
blunt, "but IH be here, six foot two in my
socks." The outer day had swallowed the
Marshal.
Men hate gossip, but somehow news
manages to travel among them with al
most the growing rapidity of Vergil's
Household Helps
Baking Sweet Potatoes.
SWEET potatoes will bake in half
the time and their skins will be
very soft if they are rubbed with
fat before putting into the oven.
' Testing the Oven.
TEST the oven with a piece of
white paper. It the paper
turns a light brown when you place
It in the oven grate the oven Is
right for pastry. If it turns a dark
yellow you are safe In baking a
cake.
Blotters for Kitchens.
LOTTING paper should have an
important place In every kit
chen. When grease Is spilled It
will quickly take up the surplus be
fore it spreads. This is also true
In the case of fruit stains. In fact,
a blotter Is indispensable when any
liquid is spilled.
: 40 ttia iateraaUoul Fetnr Snrlcth Iw
the Weapons Leaped Into Position."
Dame Rumor. So, by the time the little
clock behind ,the bar was getting nervously
ready to buzz and' clamor the hour of six.
the saloon was almost full, while uncouth
forms lounged in at the windows and
clogged the door. You might have thought
a dance was on, or that some one had
come home from a cattle-selling as rich
and as drunk as a prince, and eager to
scatter free whiskeys like the largess of
a coronation day.
The cynosure of all the eyes ambushed
behind heavy eyebrows and low-brimmed
hats was Bolande, who was again at the
bar, rigid and erect as a tower. One hand
played a, tattoo with his half-emptied glass,
the other hovered at the butt of his pistol.
He was stolid, yet alert, grim, deadly. The
whizz and boom of the striking clock
startled every one In the almost noiseless
room. The fights of frontiersmen are gen
erally the sudden promptings of an un
foreseen rage. Formal, punctual duello is
rare.
Even Bolande was a little nervous and
had gulped not infrequent stimulants to
whet his nerve and his anger to the
nicety of a razor. With knowledge born
of lifelong experience, he had equally re
frained from drinking himself past the
best form.
The Marshal evidently thought It only
right to give his old friend three minutes
pf grace, for it was a little after the hour
when his step was heard on the board
walk outside. His lean, strong figure was
clad In his best, broadcloth he would fight
like a gentleman, ready for grave or
triumph. That his ready-made suit was
much too loose hardly marred the un
theatric sublimity of his erect, stern, stub
born, Anglo-Saxon courage. In very mod
esty he pulled his broad-brimmed hat over
the panther blaze of his ruthless glare. ,
When the Marshal entered the saloon,
Bolande waited calmly for his eyes to
Making Bread.
forget that bread
D
ONT forget that bread contaia-
lng more than one variety
of flour calls for longer mixing and
kneading than bread made with
only one kind.
Using Peels.
BITS of orange and lemon peel
make' an acceptable perfume
for the bath water. They are also
excellent for, softening the raln
water which is so often recom
mended for the complexion and
the hair.
Shoe Lace Tips.
WHEN shoelaces lose their tips
twist them to a point and dip
separately, into melted sealing wax
of the desired color. Shape to a
point again while the wax is warm,
and after it has hardened there will
be a permanent sharp end which
will readily pass through the eye
lets. Great Britain Btsbte Beaerred." '
learn the denser twilight of the room. His
hand drew a little nearer his revolver
but forebore to draw it or even clutch its
handle.
As -the Marshal's searching look made
out Bolande's form, and, hunting further,
found his pistol undethroned, his teeth set
hard upon the last plea of friendship, and
with perfectly level voice, he said, inquisi
torially calm, "You're still here, I see."
"I'm here," came an answer of equal
phlegm.
And though there was a cry of Iron rage
in his voice, yet was it quiet, as the Mar
shal declared war thus: "Then, by God,
look out for yourself!"
With epic equality and speed the
weapons leaped into position. The spec
tators, knowing no shots would be wasted,
kept only from the immediate neighbor
hood of the fight. Two semicircles of faint
glamour marked the path of the revol
vers as they flashed from hip to aim. A
spitting of quick fire two sharp smacks
of noise, so twinned that neither eye nor
ear could name the earlier and the re
volvers had spoken. Neither in vain.
Bolande fought with his arm -swinging
freely, his whole body exposed. The Mar
shal's first bullet hit him in the depth of
his chest and whirled him completely
about. The next shot lunged into his un
bounded side and thrust clean through
him.
The Marshal, a little cooler and a little
readier for battle, had crooked his left arm
Into a shield for his heart and lungs, and
in its elbow rested his busy revolver.
Bolande's first shot went high and, seiz
ing on his chin, carried away the flesh
of half his Jaw. The Becond missile flung
low and nipped at his right elbow, shat
tering the Joint and shaking the six-shooter
from his grasp.
As he bent in fierce haste to seize it
with his left hand, Bolande shot him
through the top of the shoulder, breaking
his spine and paralyzing the lower part
of him. But even as he quivered to the
floor he grasped his revolver and, agoniz
ing Into a quick 'aim, fired again at Bo
lande. The bullet fastened on Bolande's left
leg and brought the giant thunderously
down. xAnd now the desperate Marshal Is
crying in rabid impotence, "Raise me up,
some of youl Raise me up, can't yon,
and give me another try at the !"
But Bolande had gathered himself into
superb position, prone on the floor, in the
old fashion of Indian lighting. His pistol
covered his- frenzied adversary, and be
said, with a paternal quietude of victory:
"Marshal, I think we've hit our last
trail. Neither of us is worth any more
lead. Is it quits V
Then the lust of killing died out of each
heart, out -of .the heart of one in his hon
orable failure to .sustain the sovereignty
of the law, out of the heart of the other
in his failure to survive -trespass on, his
personal monarchy. And when the savage
strength of resolve that supported their
wrecked and shattered hulks ebbed our.
It left them swooning and unconscious as
fainting women.
Almost reverentially the partisans ot
each lifted -sbls limp majesty from th
sticky pool of his own blood, and both
were carried upstairs to separate little
rooms in the hotel.
Afterwhiles, in the utter rest of llfe
lessness, and under the crude skill of local
physicians, vitality returned to each. To
Bolande first, and he asked weakly:
"Where the Marshal?"
They whispered him that his late enemy
lay in another room dying.
"I guess I'll go see him." gasped Bo
lande. f
The watchers remonstrated with him,
telling him that to move would compel
and hasten death. But he persisted with
crescent rage. f
"I tell you I'm goin to see him. Lift
me up and carry me to where he Is, or,
IH rip these bandages off sure. I'm dyln',
too, you blamed fools! What do I care
for an hour or twd more now? He was a
game man, wuz the Marshal, and me and
him'll cross, the Great Divide together."
The power of a man who feared nothing
that life or death could bring was not to
be resisted; and they obeyed his wish
though with a reluctance as of unwilling
murder.
They placed a cot near the Marshal's
bed. The only light in the darkened room
came sweeping through the curtain, which
glowed like a flame. Outside, the red
glory of the prairie sunset was thrilling
the earth to a responsive flush, as the gaze
of a passionate lover brings the color to
the cheek of his mistress. Within the
room was a greater glory, the austere
passing of two granite-couraged heroes.
The very evening breeze that trembled at
the dingy curtain seemed to sigh at the
pity of it.
The sinewy hands of the twain lay
clasped outside the coverlet Bronzed
hands they were, now blenching to gray,
as the mists of the valley crept up and up.
Bolande, whose pride, thoughtless even
now of repentance, had caused the ruin
of self as well as friend, was the first to
find power for speech in the leaking treas
ury of his once opulent strength. He put
away his own anguish long enough to
groan:
"Are you easy, Marshal?"
The gruff solicitude of the tone was his
only apology for the dire fruits of his
wrath, and all the perfection of its ac
ceptance was the strife at cheer In the
Marshal's reply.
"Easy as a kid In a cradle, Jess. Howr
they comin on your side?"
"Same here, old' man. But I'm goln
fast"
"You won't beat me out Ave minutes,
Jess."
This was their outlook on lite, that each
had fought for a cause he belTSved In.
Their principles fought' not they. This
was their outlook on death, that the un
welcome Inevitable should find no open
repugnance in their greeting.
Under the vampire wings of the silence
brooding upon the air of the room, the
watchers quietly fanned the Sweat-Jeweled
brows of the warriors, throwing their own
silent souls into the struggle the twain
waged with the dumb wrestler; striving,
too, against the mutinous womanliness ot
grief In their own hard souls.
At length the Marshal looked a request,
and one of the men bent over to hear his
feeble mutterings, then leaned to the doc
tor, waiting in merely formal attendance.
A shrill hiss of whispering, and the
physician murmured. With dogmatic finali
ty: 'Certainly. No use refusin' the wishes
of a man what hasn't many more to make.
Let 'em have what they like.!
The man looked relieved, rose, tiptoed
across the creaking planks, and left the
room through the protesting door. Another
immersion into deepest stillness. Soon he
returned with two glasses of whiskey on a
cracked plate.
Across the Marshal's face fluttered the
wan ghost of a smile, and he spoke be
tween fierce gulps ot pain.
"You stood the last treat, Jess. Havs
one on me now?"
"Sure old boss!" was the grisly cordis
ality of the tortured Bolande.
The watchers huddled their rag-lim
forms to an erect position, clinked their
glasses for them, put the busy life of the
glowing liquor to their shivering, ashen
lips. And this was Bolande's toast:
"Better luck in the next country!"
"How!" was tin Marshal's acceptance!
and they drank with panting effort. -
The vigor and bravado of the 'blood of
the corn ran like a prairie fire through
(heir parched and arid frames, and Bo
lande's voice flung out with spendthrift
recklessness: -,
"Well, it was a mighty good fight any
way!" He squeezed the Marshal's clammy
hand as a last spasm wrung the clay dry
of his souL and he was dead.
A long two minutes of silence smothered
life before the Marshal breathed a faint
ness, half a sigh, half an answering whls
pe, "Good-by--Jess or is it how V And
the sands of his life were run. '
So they died, stern in wrath, stern in
love, with no puny cry of contrition, no
wild appeal for mercy beyond the Mystery;
each content, rather than proud, that he
and hi friend had died game They were
Americans, With all our faults and all
our virtues, both necessary to the unrlght
eous wrenching of a continent away from
Its unworthy owners. Of such were ths
builders of the West.
Copyright, Ssorttterjr Pub. CM