When Oscar Went Wild
Ren Merton and Sig Watson had spent the night in Piperock and of aconsequence were in no shape to appreciate the beauties of the dewymorn, as their horses picked their way up the trail to the top ofOverwhich ridge.
“Them Piperock fellers play poker like I sing,” stated Sig, as theypulled up their mounts for a breathing spell. “They gits their words andmusic so mixed that nobody knows what they’re tryin’ to do. They’re uhsuccess, though.”
Ren removed his sombrero with an exaggerated flourish and, liftinghimself in his stirrups, broke forth in a shrill falsetto:
“Nobode-e-e-e knows how dry I am.”
“Shut up!”
“Mama mine, he won’t let me sing,” wailed Ren. “I lost jist as much ashe did and m’ head aches jist as hard and he won’t let m’ sing. What doyuh know about that!”
“Jist don’t sing, that’s all,” replied Sig. “You can say all th’ funnythings yuh wants to to yoreself, but I’m right here to remark thatsingin’—yore kind uh singin’—ain’t in de-mand a-tall. Sabe?”
“Always misunderstood,” mumbled Ren. “Th’ human race ain’t neverunderstood me. Mother misunderstood me; father follered suit, and nowyou—Siggie, my old pal—you turns on me.”
“Misunderstood!” Sig turned in his saddle and gazed reflectively at hispartner. “Ren Merton, if you was ever entered fer th’ human race youshore was scratched. Yore nose ain’t right—too long. Yuh got uh badcase uh squints in both uh yore eyes, and yore mouth, which was cut toowide in th’ first place, ain’t shrunk none a-tall. Shoulders? Say, Isometimes wonder how comes it that yore collar don’t slip down and tripyuh. Also, yore right foot is where yore left ought to be.”
“Pickled prairie-dogs, that’s right!” agreed Ren. “I reckon I shore musta been muddled this mawnin’ when I puts on m’ boots.”
“And also yore hair——”
“You stops at hair!” exploded Ren. “Mebby I’ve got red hair and mebbyshe runs uh little to th’ rusty shade, but I’ll be danged if any fellerwith fat eyebrows, buffalo-horn mustache and bow legs can taunt me withth’ fact. Take uh look in th’ glass and you’ll see that you ain’t noone-to-ten shot in this race yoreself, Sig.”
Sig grunted and turned back. The horses seemed to start by mutualconsent and plodded off down the hogback.
“I’ve knowed uh lot uh people,” remarked Sig, “who thought they had redhair, but——”
He pulled up his horse.
“Wasn’t that a voice, Ren?”
“I reckon not—not uh human one anyway. Go on and finish yore remarksabout hair.”
“I tell yuh I heard somebody yell!” declared Sig. “It was jist over thatridge, and I’m goin’ to see who it was.”
He spurred his horse into a gallop and Ren followed at his heels. Theycrossed the ridge and swung down into an open timbered swale,interspersed with clumps of willows and jack-pines.
There they saw her. She was tied to a tree and seemed to be exertingevery muscle to get loose. She was dressed in a faded calico dress andher dark-brown hair tumbled in confusion about her half-bare shoulders.
The sight of her was a shock to the punchers and they threw theirbroncos back on their haunches at the sight. The girl didn’t see them,and after the first gasp of surprise they sat there and stared at her.
Suddenly she shrank back against the tree and screamed—
“That’s not Oscar!”
<