Lewis Alfred Henry
Sandburrs and Others
CHAPTER V
As Hamilton Finnerty stood holding the lamp-post, and deeming it his “only own,” two of the Queen’s constabulary approached.
“‘Ere’s a bloomin’ gow, Jem!” said the one born in London. “Now ‘00 d’ ye tyke the gent to be?”
They were good police people, ignorant but innocent; and disinclined to give Hamilton Finnerty the collar.
“Frisk ‘un, Bill,” advised the one from Yorkshire; “it’s loike th’ naime bees in ‘uns pawkets.”
The two went through the make-up of Hamilton Finnerty. Jagged as he was, he heeded them not. They struck the steamer tickets and noted the steamer’s name, but not the day of sailing.
As if anxious to aid in the overthrow of Hamilton Finnerty, the steamer was still at her dock, with preparations all but complete for the return slide to New York.
“Now ‘ere’s a luvely mess!” said London Bill, looking at the tickets. “The bloody bowt gows in twenty minutes, an’ ‘ere’s this gent a-gettin’ ‘eeself left! An’ th’ tickets for ‘ees missus, too! It’s punds t’ peanuts, th’ loidy’s aboard th’ bowt tearin’ ‘er blessed heyes out for ‘im. Hy, say there, kebby! bear a ‘and! This gent’s got to catch a bowt!”
Hamilton Finnerty, dumb with Gin and Dog’s Head, was tumbled into the cab, and the vehicle, taking its hunch from the excited officers, made the run of its life to the docks. They were in time.
“It tak’s th’ droonken ‘uns t’av th’ loock!” remarked Yorkshire Jem cheerfully to London Bill, as they stood wiping their honest faces on the dock, while the majestic steamer, with Hamilton Finnerty aboard, worked slowly out.
CHAPTER VI
When Hamilton Finnerty came to his senses he was one hundred miles on his way to New York. For an hour he was off his trolley. It was six days before he landed, and during that period he did naught but chew the rag.
Hamilton Finnerty chased straight for Harlem and sought refuge in the Ville Finnerty. He must think; he must reorganise his play! He would compile a fake calculated to make a hit as an excuse with Isabelle Imogene McSween, and cable it. All might yet be well.
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
(Wolfville)
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.
That evening the New York Store’s warehouse was as brilliantly a-light as a mad abundance of candles could make it. All Wolfville was there. As a result of conferences held in private with Short Creek Dave, and by that convert’s request, Old Man Enright took a seat by the drygoods box which was to serve as a pulpit. Doc Peets, also, was asked to assume a place at the Evangelist’s left. The congregation disposed itself about on the improvised benches which the ardour of Boggs had provided.
At 8 o’clock Short Creek Dave walked up the space in the centre reserved as an aisle, carrying a giant Bible. This latter he placed on the drygoods box. Old Man Enright, at a nod from Short Creek Dave, called gently for attention, and addressed the meeting briefly.
“This yere is a prayer meetin’ of the camp,” said Enright, “an’ I’m asked by Dave to preside, which I accordin’ do. No one need make any mistake about the character of this gatherin’, or its brand. This yere is a relig’ous meetin’. I am not myse’f given that a-way, but I’m allers glad to meet up with folks who be, an’ see that they have a chance in for their ante, an’ their game is preserved. I’m one, too, who believes a little religion wouldn’t hurt this yere camp much. Next to a lynchin’, I don’t know of a more excellent inflooence in a western camp than these meetin’s. I ain’t expectin’ to cut in on this play none myse’f, an’ only set yere, as does Peets, in the name of order, an’ for the purposes of a squar’ deal. Which I now introdooces to you a gent who is liable to be as good a preacher as ever thumps a Bible – your old pard, Short Creek Dave.”
“Mr. Pres’dent!” said Short Creek Dave, turning to Enright.
“Short Creek Dave!” replied Enright sententiously, bowing gravely in recognition.
“An’ ladies an’ gents of Wolfville!” continued Dave, “I opens this racket with a prayer.”
The prayer proceeded. It was fervent and earnest; replete with unique expression and personal allusion. In the last, the congregation took a warm interest.
Towards the close, Dave bent his energies in supplication for the regeneration of Texas Thompson, whom he represented in his orisons as by nature good, but living a misguided and vicious life. The audience was listening with approving attention, when there came an interruption. It was from Texas Thompson.
“Mr. Pres’dent,” said Texas Thompson, “I rises to ask a question an’ put for’ard a protest.”
“The gent will state his p’int,” responded Enright, rapping on the drygoods box.
“Which the same is this,” resumed Texas Thompson, drawing a long breath. “I objects to Dave a-tacklin’ the Redeemer for me. I protests ag’in him makin’ statements that I’m ornery enough to pillage a stage. This yere talk is liable to queer me on High. I objects to it!”
“Prayer is a device without rools or limit,” responded Enright. “Dave makes his runnin’ with the bridle off; an* the chair, tharfore, decides ag’in the p’int of order.”
“An’ the same bein’ the case,” rejoined Texas Thompson with heat, “a-waivin’ of the usual appeal to the house, all I’ve got to say is, I’m a peaceful gent; I has allers been the friend of Short Creek Dave. Which I even assists an’ abets Boggs in packin’ in these yere benches, an’ aids to promote this meetin’. But I gives notice now, if Short Creek Dave persists in malignin’ of me to the Great White Throne, as yeretofore, I’ll shore call on him to make them statements good with his gun as soon as ever the contreebution box is passed.”
“The chair informs the gent,” said Enright with cold dignity, “that Dave, bein’ now a Evangelist, can’t make no gun plays, nor go canterin’ out to shoot as of a former day. However, the chair recognises the rights of the gent, an’, standin’ as the chair does in the position of lookout to this game, the chair nom’nates Dan’l Boggs, who’s officiatin’ as deacon hereof, to back these yere orisons with his six-shooter as soon as ever church is out, in person.”
“It goes!” responded Boggs. “I proudly assoomes Dave’s place.”
“Mr. Pres’dent,” interrupted Short Creek Dave, “jest let me get my views in yere. It’s my turn all right, as I makes clear, easy. I’ve looked up things some, an* I finds that the Apostle Peter, who was a great range boss of them days, scroopled not to fight. Which I trails out after Peter in this. I might add, too, that while it gives me pain to be obleeged to shoot up brother Texas Thompson in the first half of the first meetin’ we holds in Wolfville, still the path of dooty is plain, an’ I shall shorely walk tharin, fearin’ nothin’. I tharfore moves we adjourn ten minutes, an’ as thar is plenty of moon outside, if the chair will lend me its gun – I’m not packin’ of sech frivolities no more, regyardin’ of ‘em in the light of sinful bluffs – I trusts to Providence to convince brother Texas Thompson that he’s followed off the wrong waggon track. You-alls can gamble! I knows my business. I ain’t 4-flushin’ none when I lines out to pray!”
“Onless objection is heard, this meetin’ will stand adjourned for ten minutes,” said Enright, at the same time passing Short Creek Dave his pistol.
Fifteen paces were stepped off, and the opponents faced up in the moonlit street. Enright, Peets, Hall, Boggs, Tutt, Moore and the rest of the congregation made a line of admiration on the sidewalk.
“I counts one! two! three! an’ then I drops the contreebution box,” said Enright, “whereupon you-alls fires an’ advances at will. Be you ready?”
The shooting began on the word. When the smoke blew away, Texas Thompson staggered to the sidewalk and sat down. There was a bullet in his hip, and the wound, for the moment, brought a feeling of sickness.
“The congregation will now take its seats in the sanctooary,” remarked Enright, “an’ play will be re-soomed. Tutt, two of you-alls carry Texas over to the hotel, an’ fix him up all right. Yereafter, I’ll visit him an’ p’int out his errors. This shows concloosive that Short Creek Dave is licensed from Above to pray any gait for whoever he deems meet, an’ I’m mighty pleased it occurs. It’s shore goin’ to promote confidence in Dave’s ministrations.”
The concourse was duly in its seats when Short Creek Dave again reached the pulpit.
“I will now resoome my intercessions for our onfortunate brother, Texas Thompson,” said Short Creek Dave.
“I know’d he would,” commented Dan Boggs, as twenty dollars came over addressed by the wounded Thompson to the contribution box. “Texas Thompson is one of the reasonablest sports in Wolfville. Also you can bet! relig’ous trooths allers assert themse’ves.”
CRIME THAT FAILED
(Annals of the Bend)
Say! Matches,” said Chucky, removing his nose from his glass, “youse remember d’ Jersey Bank? I means d’ time youse has to go to cover an ‘d’ whole mob is pinched in d’ hole. Tell us d’ story; it’s dead int’restin’.”
This last was to me in a husky whisper.
“That play was a case of fail,” remarked Mollie Matches thoughtfully. Then turning to me as chief auditor, he continued. “It’s over twenty years ago; just on d’ heels of d’ Centenyul at Phil’delfy. D’ graft was fairly flossy durin ‘d’ Centenyul, an’ I had quite a pot of dough.
“One day a guy comes to me; he’s a bank woiker, what d’ fly people calls ‘a gopher man’; he’s a mug who’s onto all d’ points about safes an’ such. Well, as I says, this soon guy comes chasin’ to me.
“‘Matches,’ he says, ‘don’t say a woid; I’ll put youse onto an easy trick. Come wit’ me to Jersey, an’ I’ll show you a bin what’s all organised to be cracked. Any old hobo could toin off d’ play; it’s a walk-over.’
“Wit’ that, for I had confidence in this mark, see! We skins over to Jersey, an’ he steers me out to a nearby town an’ points me out a bank. What makes it a good t’ing is a vacant joint, wit’ a ‘To Rent’ sign in d’ window, built dost ag’inst d’ side of d’ bank.
“‘Are youse on?’ says d’ goph, pointin’ his main hook at d’ empty house, an’ then at d’ bank.
“Bein’ I’m no farmer meself, I takes no time to tumble. We screws our nuts, me an’ d’ goph, to d’ duck who owns d’ house, an ‘d’ nex’ news is we rents it. D’ duck who does d’ rentin’ says he can see we’re on d’ level d’ moment we floats in; but all d’ same, if we can bring him a tip or two on d’ point of our bein’ square people from one or two high rollers whose names goes, he’ll take it kindly. We says, suttenly; we fills him to d’ chin wit’ all d’ ref-runces he needs.
“‘We won’t do a t’ing but send our pastor to youse,’ puts in d’ goph.
“Good man, me pal was, as ever draws slide on a dark lantern, but always out to be funny.
“We rents d’ joint, as I states, an’ no more is said about refrunces. Now, when it comes to d’ real woik, I ain’t goin’ to do none, see! I ain’t down to dig an’ pick; it spoils me hooks for dippin’. What I does is furnish d’ tools an ‘d’ dough.
“I goes back an’ gets a whole kit of bank tools – drills, centre-bits, cold-chisels, jointed-jimmies, wedges, pullers, spreaders, fuse, powder, mauls an’ mufflers – I gets d’ whole t’ing, see! Me pal knows a brace of pards who’ll stand in on d’ play. He calls ‘em in, an’ one night d’ entire squeeze, wit ‘d’ tools, goes over an’ plants themselfs in d ‘empty house. Yes; dey takes grub an’ blankets an’ all dey needs.
“Before this I goes ag’inst d’ bank janitor; an’ while he’s a fairly downy party, I wins him. D’ janitor of d’ bank gets a hundred bones, an’ I gets a map of d’ bank, which shows where d* money is planted an’ all about it.
“What’s d’ idee? Our racket is to tunnel from d’ cellar of d’ joint we rents, under d’ sidewall of d’ bank, an’ keep on until we reaches d’ stuff, see! We’re out to do all d’ woik we can wit’out lettin’ d’ bank-crush twig d’ graft. Then we waits till Saturday noon. D’ bank shuts up on Saturday noon, understan’! An’ then we has till Monday at 9 o’clock to finish d’ woik. An’ say! it’s time plenty! It gives us time to boin!
“As I states, I don’t do any of d’ woik. D’ gopher an’ his two pals is all d’ job calls for. So I lays dead in d’ town, ready to split out me piece of d’ plunder, an’ waits results.
“To hurry me yarn, everyt’ing woiks like it’s greased to fit d’ play. D’ mob gets d’ tunnel as far as it’ll go. Saturday noon comes an ‘d’ last sucker who belongs to d’ bank skips out. It’s then me gopher an’ his two pals t’rows themselfs.
“All t’rough Saturday afternoon an’ all d’ night till daylight Sunday mornin’, them gezebos woiks away like dogs. An’ say! don’t youse ever doubt it! dey was winnin’ in a walk.
“But all this time d’ pins was set up to do ‘em. It was d’ same old story. There’s always some little nogood bet a crook is sure to overlook, an’ it goes d’ wrong way an’ downs him. Here’s what happens:
“In d’ foist place, we forgets to take d’ ‘To Rent’ sign out of d’ window, see! That’s d’ beginnin’. Nex,’ me goph an’ his side-partners digs so much dirt out of d’ tunnel it fills d’ cellar. Honest! it won’t hold no more.
“At this last, dey takes to shovelin ‘d’ dirt into a bushel basket. Then dey carries it up d’ back stairs and dumps it on d’ floor of a summer kitchen. Be 7 o’clock Sunday, mebby dey dumps as many as six basketfuls; dumps it, as I tells youse, in this lean-to, which is built on d’ rear.
“Now, right at this time there’s an old Irish Moll who keeps a boardin’ house not far away who is flyin’ along to early Mass, bein’ dead religious an’ leary about her soul, see! This old goil, as she comes sprintin’ along, gets her bleary old lamps on d’ ‘To Rent’ card. All at onct d’ idee fetches her a t’ump in d’ cocoa that d’ house would be out of sight for a boardin’ joint. Wit’ that she steers herself in to take a squint an’ size up d’ crib.
“D’ door is locked, so d’ old goil can’t come in. Wit’ that she leads d’ nex’ best card an’ goes galumpin’ round, pipin’ off d’ place t’rough d’ windows. An’ say! she gets stuck on it. She t’inks if she can rent it, she can run d’ dandy boardin’ house of d’ ward in it.
“As d’ old frail goes round d’ place, among all d’ rest, she looks t’rough d’ windows into d’ summer kitchen. She gets onto d’ dirt that’s dumped, as I states, in one corner. But she don’t see none of d’ gang, bein’ dey’s down in d’ hole at d’ time, so she don’t fasten to nothin’.
“At last she’s seen enough an’ sherries her nibs to d’ cat’edral.
“That’s all right if it’s only d’ end; but it ain’t. When it gets to about 2 o’clock, this old skate in petticoats goes toinin’ nutty ag’in about d’ empty house. Over she spins to grab another glimpse, see! When she strikes d’ summer kitchen she comes near to throwin’ a faint. D’ pile of rubbidge is twenty times as big!
“That settles it! d’ joint is ha’nted! an’ wit’ that notion all tangled up in her frizzes d’ old mut makes a straight wake for d’ priest.
“‘D’ empty house nex’ to d’ bank is full of ghosts!’ she shouts, an’ then she flings her apron over her nut an’ comes a fit.
“Now, this priest is about as sudden a party as ever comes over d’ ocean. Youse can’t give him no stiff about spooks, see! Bein’ nex’ to d’ bank is a hot tip, an’ he takes it.
“Nit! he don’t go surgin’ round for his prayer-books an d’ hully water. It would have been a dead good t’ing if he had. Nixie weedin’! D’ long-coat sucker don’t even come over to d’ house.
“What does he do? He sprints for d’ nearest p’lice station at a 40 clip, an’ fills up d’ captain in charge wit ‘d’ story till youse can’t rest. After that, it takes’ d’ p’lice captain about ten seconts to line up his push; an’ be coppin’ a sneak, he pinches me gopher an’ his two pals right in d’ hole. Dey was gettin’ along beautiful at d’ time, an’ in ten hours more dey would have had that bank on d’ hog for fair.
Dey was dead games at that. While dey gets d’ collar, not one of ‘em coughs on me, an’ me name ain’t never in it from start to finish. Dey was game, true pals from bell to bell, an’ stayed d’ distance.
“It was d’ bummest finish, all d’ same, for what looked like d’ biggest trick, an’ d’ surest big money, that I ever goes near. Youse may well peel your peeps! If it wasn’t for that old Irish keener an’ her ghost stories, in less than ten hours more we wouldn’t have got a t’ing but complete action on more’n a million plunks! There was a hay-mow full of money in that bin!
“That’s d’ last round an’ wind-up, as d’ pugs puts it. Me gopher an’ his pals is handed out ten spaces each, an’ I lose me kit of tools. Take it over all, I’m out some four t’ousand dollars on d’ deal. A tidy lump of dough to be done out of be a priest, a p’liceman an’ an old Irish boardin’ boss! D’ old loidy lands wit’ bot’ her trilbys, though; d’ bank chucks her a bundle of fly-paper big enough to stan’ for all her needs until she croaks, forcuttin’ in on our play, see!”
