The Laughter of Slim Malone
Time has little to do with reputation in the far West, and accordinglythe name of Slim Malone grew old in the region of Appleton, and yetthe owner of the name was still young.
Appleton was somewhat of a misnomer, for the region had never knownanything save imported apples or any other sort of fruit since thetime of its birth into the history of whisky and revolvers. But amisguided pioneer in the old days had raised a few scrubby trees andhad named the town forever. The dreams of the early agriculturalistshad died long ago, but the name remained to pique the curiosity oftravelers and furnish jokes for inhabitants.
The town lay at the conjunction of three gorges in the heart of theRockies, and the little plain where it nestled was crowded withorchards which bore everything but apples. The six original treeswhich had given the town its name now stood in the back yard of SandyOrton’s saloon—old trees with knotted and mossy limbs which suggesteda venerable age due to the hard climate rather than to the passage ofyears. They were pointed out to casual travelers with great pride, andthey were the established toast of Sandy’s place. But Sandy’s wasfrequented by a loud-voiced and spendthrift crowd not usual toagricultural towns.
In the old days, when Appleton was a name rather than a fact, thehilarity had been as absent as the men; but after gold was discoveredin the three gorges which led from the settlement into the heart ofthe mountains, the little town became a rendezvous of a thousandadventurers. The stages to and from the railroad thirty miles away,were crowded with men eager to face the hardships of the climate andthe great adventure of the gold-fields.
It was then that Slim Malone appeared. It was said that he had firstcome upon the scene as the owner of the Red River strike, which wasfinally owned by Sandy Gleason. It was further rumored that Sandy hadbeaten Slim Malone out of the claim by a very shady deal at cards; butSandy refused to discuss the matter, and Slim Malone was rarely withinvocal range, so the matter had never been sifted. Sandy was rarelymore vocal than a grunt, and when Slim Malone appeared, people hadgenerally other things to think about than questions concerning hispast.
A certain percentage of lawlessness is taken for granted in a miningtown. People are too busy with their own concerns to pay attention totheir neighbors, but when three stages in succession, passing fromAppleton to Concord, the nearest railroad station, were robbed by arider on a white horse, the community awoke and waxed wrath. The losswas too much in common to be passed over.
The first effort was an impromptu organization of half a dozen angeredminers who rode into the Weston Hills. They found fresh hoof-printsafter an hour of riding, and went on greatly encouraged, with thepistols loosened in their holsters. After some hours of hard travelthey came upon a white horse in the midst of a hollow, and then spreadinto a circle and approached cautiously. But not cautiously enough.While they were still far from the white horse the bandit opened fireupon them from the shelter of a circle of rocks. They rode into townthe next day with three of their number badly hurt and the other threemarked for life. That started the war.
As the months passed posse after posse left Appleton and started toscour the Weston Hills for the marauder. The luckiest of theexpeditions came back telling tales of a sudden fusillade