 The Riot at Cougar-Paw, by Robert Howard. I was out in the blacksmith's shop by the corral, beating out some shoes for Cat and Kid, when my brother John comes sauntering in. He'd been away for a few weeks up in the Cougar-Paw country, and he'd evidently done well, whatever he'd been doing, because he was in a first-class humor with his self, and plumb spilling over with high spirits and conceit. When he feels prime like that, he wants to rawhide everybody he meets, especially me. John thinks he's a witt, but I figure he's just half-right. Are you slaving over a hot forge for that mangy, flea-bid hunk of buzzard meat again, he greeted me? That bruntail ain't what the iron you wastes on his splayed-out hooves. He knows the easiest way to get under my hide is to poke fun at Cat and Kid, but I reflected it was just envy on his part and resisted my natural impulse to bend the tongs over his head. I'd taken the white-hot iron out of the forge and put it on the anvil and started beating it into shape with a sixteen-pound sledge I always use. I've got no use for the toys which most blacksmiths use for hammers. If you've got nothing better to do than criticize an animal which is a damn sight better hoss than you'll ever be a man, I said with dignity, between licks. I calls your attention to a door right behind you which nobody ain't using at the moment. He busts into loud, rude laughter and said, you call that thing a hush-shoe? It's big enough for a snowplow. Here, long as you're in the business, see can you fit a shoe for that? He sought his foot up on the anvil and I give it a good slam with the hammer. John led out a awful holler and begun hopping around over the shop and cuss and fit to curl your hair. I kept on hammering my iron. Just then Pap stuck his head in the door and beamed on us and said, you boys won't never grow up. Always play in your childish games and sportin' in your innocent frolics. He's busted my toes, said John bloodthirstily, and I'll have his heart's blood if it's the last thing I do. Chips off the old block, bean-path. It takes me back to the time when, in the days of my happy childhood, I emptied a sawed-off shotgun into the seat of brother Joel's britches for tellin' our old man it was me which put that bar-trap in his bunk. He'll groove a day, promised John, and humbled off to the cabin with moans and profanity. A little later from his yells I gathered he had persuaded Ma or one of the gals to rub his toe with Haas-Leneman. He could make more racket about nothin' than any Elkins I ever knowed. I went on and made the shoes and put them on Captain Kidd, which is a job about like ropin' and hog-tyin' a mountain cyclone. And by the time I got through and went up to the cabin to eat, John seemed to have got over his mad spell. He was layin' on his bunk with his foot up on it all bandaged up, and he says, Breckenridge, there ain't no use in grown men holdin' a grudge. Let's forget about it. "'Who's holdin' any grudge?' I asked, makin' sure he didn't have a buoy-knife in his left hand. I don't know why they should be so much racket over a trifle that don't amount to nothin' know-how. Well, he said, this here busted foot discommodes me a heap. I won't be able to ride for a day or so, and they as business up to Cougar-Paul I ought to attend to. I thought you'd just come from there, I says. "'I did,' he said, but they as a man up there which has promised me somethin' which is do me, and now I ain't able to go collect. Why don't you go and collect for me, Breckenridge? You ought to, during it, cause it's your fault I can't ride. The man's name is Bill Santry, and he lives up in the mountains a few miles from Cougar-Paul. You'll likely find him in Cougar-Paul any day, though. "'What's this he promised you?' I asked. "'Just ask for Bill Santry,' he said. When you find him, say to him, I'm John Elkin's brother, and you can give me what you promised him. My family always imposes onto my good nature. Generally, I'd rather go do what they want me to do than go to the trouble of arguing with them. Oh, all right,' I says, I ain't got nothin' to do right now. Thanks, Breckenridge,' he said, I knowed I could count on you. So, a couple of days later, I was ridin' through the Cougar Range, which is very thick-timbered mountains, and rapidly approachin' Cougar-Paul. I hadn't never been there before, but I was followin' a windin' wagon-road which I knowed would eventually fetch me there. The road wound around the shoulder of a mountain, and ahead of me I seen a narrow path opened into it, and just before I got there I heard a bull-bellar, and a gal screamed, "'Help! Help! Oh, man, Kirby's bulls loose!' They came up, pat or a feet, and behind them a smashin' and a crashin' in the underbrush, and a gal run out of the path onto the road, and a rampageant bull was right behind her with his head lowered to toss her. I ran, Captain Kidd, between her and him, and knowed Captain Kidd to do the rest, without no advice from me. He done so by wheelin' and lamin' his heels into that bull's rib so hard, he kicked the critter, cleaned through a rail fence on the other side of the road. Captain Kidd hates bulls, and he's too big and strong for any of them. He would've then jumped on the critter and stomped him, but I restrained him, which made him mad, whilst he was trying to buck me off the bull untangled itself, and high-tailed it down the mountain, ballin' like a scared yearlin'. When I had got Captain Kidd in hand I looked round and seen the gal lookin' at me very admirantly. I swept off my stetson and bowed from my saddle and says, "'Can I assist you any farther, ma'am?' She blushed pretty as a pitcher and said, "'I'm much obliged, stranger. That there critter I had is hooks into my hide. Poor you, headin'. If you ain't in no hurry, I'd admire to have you drop by the cabin and have a snack of bar meat and honey. We live up the path about a mile. They ain't nothin' I'd rather do, I assured her. But just at the present I got business in Cougarpaw. How far is it from here?' "'About five mile down the road,' says she. "'My name's Joan. What's your'n?' "'Breckin' Ridge Elkins of Bear Creek,' I said. "'Say, I gotta push on to Cougarpaw, but I'll be ridin' back this way to-morrow mornin' about sun-up. If you could I'll be waitin' right here for you.' She said so promptly it made my head swim. No doubt about it. It was love at first sight. "'I-I got store-bought shoes,' she added shyly. "'I'll be awarein' them when you come along. I'll be here if I have to wait through fire, flood, and hostile engines,' I assured her, and rode on down the wagon-trace with my manly heart swellin' with pride in my bosom. They ain't many mountain men which can awake the fire of love in a gal's heart at first sight. A gal likewise, which was as beautiful as that their gal, and rich enough to own store-bought shoes. As I told Captain Kidd, they was just something about a Elkins. It was about noon when I rode into Cougarpaw, which is a tolerably small village sought up amongst the mountains, with a few cabins where folks lived, and a few more which was a grocery store and a jail and a saloon. Right behind the saloon was a good-sized cabin with a big sign on to it which said, Jonathan Middleton, mayor of Cougarpaw. They didn't seem to be nobody in sight, not even on the saloon porch. So I rode on to the corrals which served for a livery's table and wagon-yard, and a man come out of the cabin-niot and took charge of Captain Kidd. He wanted to turn him in with a couple of mules which hadn't never been broke, but I knowed what Captain Kidd had to do to them mules, so the feller gave him a corral to his self, and belly-ait just because Captain Kidd playfully bit the seat out of his britches. He calmed down when I paid for the britches. I asked him where I could find Bill Santry, and he said likely he was up to the store. So I went up to the store, and it was about like all them stores you see in them kind of towns. Groceries and dry goods and grindstones and harness and such like stuff. In a wagon tongue somebody had mended recent. They weren't but the one store in the town, and it handled a little of everything. It was a sign on to it which said, General Store. Captain Middleton, proprietor. They was a bunch of fellas sitting around on goods boxes and benches, eating soda crackers and pickles out of a barrel. And they was a tolerable hard-looking gang. I said, I'm looking for Bill Santry, the biggest man in the store, which was sitting on a bench, says, You don't have to look no further. I'm Bill Santry. Well I says, I'm Breckinridge Elkins, John Elkins' brother. You can give me what you promised him. Ha! he says, with a snort like a hungry catamount rising sudden. There is nothing which could give me more pleasure. Take it with my blessing. And so saying, he picked up the wagon tongue and splintered it over my head. It was so unexpected that I lost my footing and fell on to my back. And Santry give a wolfish yell and jumped on to my stomach with both feet. And the next thing I knowed, nine or ten more fellas was jumping up and down on me with their boots. Now, I can take a joke as well as the next man. But it always did make me mad for a fella to twist a spur into my hair and try to tear the scalp off. Santry, having did this, I throwed off them lunatics, which was trying to tromp out my innards, and ribs up amongst them with an outraged beller. I swept four or five of them into my arms and give them a grizzly hug. And when I let go, all they was able to do was fall on the floor and squawk about their busted ribs. I then turned on to the others, which was assaulting me with pistols and buoy knives and the butt into quartz and other villainous weapons. And when I laid into them, you shoulda heard them howl. Santry was trying to dismember my ribs with a butcher knife he got out of the pork barrel, so I picked up the pickle barrel and busted it over his head. He went to the floor under an avalanche of splintered staves and pickles and brine. And then I got hold of a grindstone and really started getting destructive. A grindstone is a good comforting implement to have hold of in a melee, but kinda clumsy. For instance, when I hoeved it at a fella which was trying to cock a sawed-off shotgun, it missed him entirely and knocked all the slats out of the counter, and I squashed four or five men which was trying to shoot me from behind it. I settled the shotgun fella's hash, with a box of canned beef. And then I got hold of a double-bitted ax, and the embattled citizens at Cougar Paw quit the field with blood, kirtle, and howls of fear, them which was able to quit and howl. I stumbled over the thickly strewn casualties to the door, taking a few casual swipes at the shelves as I went past and knocking all the cans off of them. Just as I emerged into the street with my ax lifted to chop down anybody which opposed me, a skinny-looking human bobbed up in front of me and hollered, HULT IN THE NAME OF THE LAW! Paying no attention to the double-barreled shotgun he shoved in my face, I swung back my ax for a swipe and accidentally hit the sign over the door and knocked it down on top of him. He let out a squall as he went down and let BAM with the shotgun right in my face, so close it singed my eyebrows. I pulled the sign-board off of him so I could get a good belt at him with my ax, but he hollered, I'm the sheriff! I demand you surrenders to properly constipated authority! I then noticed that he had a star pinned on the one gallus. So I put down my ax and let him take my guns. I never resists an officer of the law. Well, sell them ever, that is. He pointed his shotgun at me and says, I find you ten dollars for disturbing the peace. About this time a lanky maverick with side-whiskers come prancing around the corner of the building, and he started throwing fits like a low-code steer. The scoundrels ruined my store, he howled. He's got to pay me for the counters and windows he busted, and the shells he knocked down and the sign he ruined, and the pork keg he busted over my clerk's head. What do you think he ought to pay, Mr. Middleton? asked the sheriff. Five hundred dollars, said the mayor, bloodthirstily. Five hundred hell, I roared, stung the wrath. This here whole Dern town ain't worth five hundred dollars. Anyway, I ain't got no money but fifty cents I owe to the fellow that runs the wagon-yard. Give me the fifty cents, ordered the mayor. I'll credit that onto your bill. I'll credit my fist onto your skull, I snarled, and begin and lose my temper, because the butcher knife Bill Santry had carved my ribs with, had salt on the blade, and the salt got into the cuts and smarted. I owes this fifty cents, and I gives it to the man I owes it to. Throw him in jail, rave Middleton. We'll keep him there till we figures out a job will work for him to do to pay out his fine. So the sheriff marched me down the street to the log cabin which they used for a jail, whilst Middleton went moaning around the ruins of his grocery store, paying no heed to the fellers which lay groaning on the floor. But I seen the rest of the citizens packing them out on stretchers to take them into the saloon to bring them to. The saloon had assigned. Square Deal Saloon. Jonathan Middleton, proprietor. And I heard fellers cuss in Middleton, because he made them pay for the liquor they poured onto the victims' cuts and bruises, but they cussed under their breath. Middleton seemed to pack a lot of power in that their town. Well, I laid down on the jailhouse bunk as well as I could, because they always billed them bunks for ordinary-sized men about six foot tall. And I wondered what in hell Bill Santry had hit me with that wagon-tongue for. It didn't seem to make no sense. I laid there and waited for the sheriff to bring me my supper, but he didn't bring none. And pretty soon I went to sleep and dreamed about Joan, with her store-bought shoes. What woke me up was an awful racket in the direction of the saloon. I got up and looked out of the barred window. Night had fell, but the cabins in the saloon was well lit up, but too far away for me to tell what was going on. But the noise was so familiar, I thought for a minute I must be back on Bear Creek again, because men was yelling and cussing, and guns was banging, and a big voice roaring over the din. Once it sounded like somebody got knocked through a door. And it made me right homesick. It was so much like a dance on Bear Creek. I pulled the bars out of the window, trying to see what was going on. But all I could see was what looked like men flying ahead first out of the saloon. And when they hit the ground and stopped rolling, they jumped up and run off in all directions, hollering like the Apaches was on their heels. Pretty soon I seen somebody running toward the jail as hard as he could leg it, and it was the sheriff. Most of his clothes was tore off, and he had blood on his face, and he was gasping and panting. We got a job for you, Helkins, he panted. A wild man from Texas just hit town, and is terrorizing the citizens. If you'll protect us and lay out this fiend from the prairies, we'll remit your fine. Listen at that. From the noise I judged the aforesaid wild man had splintered the panels out of the bar. What started him on his rampage, I asked. Aw, somebody said they made better chili-cun carney in Santa Fe than they did in El Paso, says the sheriff. So this maniac starts cleaning up the town. Well, I don't blame him, I said. That was a dirty lie and lowdown slander. My folks all come from Texas, and if you Cougar Paul Coyotes thinks you can slander the state and get away with it, we don't think nothing. Well, the sheriff, wringing his hands and jumping like a startled deer every time a crash resounded up the street, re-admits the lone star state as a cream of the west at all ways. Listen, will you lick this homicidal lunatic for us? You've got to, Dernet. You've got to work out your fine and— Oh, all right, I said, kicking the door down before he could unlock it. I'll do it. I can't waste much time in this town. I got an engagement down the road to Marr at Sunup. The street was deserted, but heads were sticking out of every door and window. The sheriff stayed on my heels till I was a few feet from the saloon, then he whispered, Go do it and make it a good job. If anybody can lick that grizzly in there, it's you. He then ducked out a site behind the nearest cabin after handing me my gun-belt. I stalked into the saloon and seen a gigantic figure standing at the bar and just fixing to pour itself a dram out of a dimmage on. He had the place to himself, but it warn't near as much of a wreck as I'd expected. As I come in, he wheeled with a snarl, quick as a cat, and flashing out a gun. I drawed one of mine just as quick, and for a second we stood there, glaring at each other over the barrels. Breckenridge Elkins, says he, my own flesh and blood kin. Cousin Bearfield Buckner, I says, shoving my gun back in its scabbard. I didn't even know you was in Nevada. I got a rambling foot, says he, holstering his chute and iron. Put her there, cousin Breckenridge. My golly, I'm glad to see you, I said, shaking with him. Then I recollected. Hey, I says, I gotta lick you. What do you mean, he demanded? Aw, I says I got arrested and ain't got no money to pay my fine, and I gotta work it out. Licking you was the job they give me. I ain't got no use for law, he said grumpily. Still, and all, if I had any dough I'd pay your fine for you. And Elkins don't accept no charity, I said, slightly meddled. We works for what we gets. I pays my fine by licking the hell out of you, Cousin Bearfield. At this he lost his temper. He was always hot-headed that way. His black brows come down and his lips curled up away from his teeth, and he clenched his fists, which was about the size of mallets. What kind of kin folks are you, he scowled. I don't mind a friendly fight between relatives, but your intentions is mercenary and unworthy of a true Elkins. You put me in mind of the fact that your old man had to leave Texas a count of a hoss getting its head tangled in a lariat he was toting in his absent-minded way. That there is a cussed lie, I said with heat. Papp left Texas because he wouldn't take the Yankee Oath after the Civil War, and you know it. Anyway, I added bidingly, nobody can ever say a Elkins ever stole a chicken and roasted it in a chaperral thicket. He started violently and turned pale. What you hinting at, you son of Belial? He hollered. Your iniquities ain't no family secret, I assured him bitterly. Aunt Atascosa, rid Uncle Jeopard Grimes about you stealing that there Wyandot hint off Old Man Westfall's roost. Shut up, he bellard, jumping up and down in his raft and clutching his six shooters convulsively. I wore just a yearling when I left it that there foul and edit, and I wore plum famished because a posse had been chasing me six days. They was after me a count of Joel Richardson happening to be in my way when I was empty in my buffalo rifle. Blast your soul, I have shot better men than you for talking about chickens around me. Nevertheless, I said, the fact remains that you're the only one of the clan which ever swiped at chicken. No Elkins never stole no hint. No, he sneered. They prefers hausses. Just then I noticed that a crowd had gathered timidly outside the doors and winders and was listening eagerly to this exchange of family scandals. So I said, we've talked enough. The time for action is a rift. When I first seen you, cousin Bearfield, the thought of committing mayhem onto you was very distasteful. But after our recent conversation I feel I can scramble your homely features with a free and joyful spirit. Let's have a snort, then get down to business. Suits me, he agreed, hanging his gun belt on the bar. Here's a jug with about a gallon of red liquor into it. So we each take on a medium-sized snort, which of course emptied the jug. Then I hitch my belt and says, which does you desire first, cousin Bearfield? A busted leg or a fractured skull? Wait a minute, he requested as I approached him. What's that on your boot? I stooped over to see what it was, and he swung his leg and kicked me in the mouth as hard as he could, and immediately busted into a guffaw of brutal mirth. Whilst he was thus employed, I spit his boot out and butted him in the belly with a violence which changed his haw haw to an agonized grunt. Then we laid hands on each other and rolled back and forth across the floor, biting and gouging, and that was how the tables and chairs got busted. Mayor Middleton must have been watching through a window because I heard him squall. My God, they're wrecking my saloon! Sheriff, arrest them both! And the sheriff hollered back. I took your orders all I aimed to, Jonathan Middleton. If you want to stop that double cyclone, get in there and do it yourself. Presently we got tired scrambling around on the floor amongst the cuspidors. So we rizzed simultaneous, and I splintered the roulette wheel with his carcass, and he hit me on the jaw, so hard he knocked me clean through the bar, and all the bottles fell off the shelves and showered round me, and the sealant lamp come loose and spilled about a gallon of red hot aisle down his neck. Whilst he was employed with the aisle, I clumped up from among the debris of the bar and started my right fist in a swing from the floor, and after it traveled, maybe nine feet, it took Cousin Bearfield under the jaw, and he hit the opposite wall so hard he knocked out a section and went clean through it, and that was when the roof fell in. I started kicking and throwing the ruins off me, and then I was aware of Cousin Bearfield lifting logs and beams off of me and in a minute I crawled out from under him. I could have gone out all right, I said, but just the same I'm much obliged to you. Blood stickered in water, he grunted, and hit me under the jaw and knocked me about seventeen feet backwards towards the mayor's cabin. He then rushed forward and started kicking me in the head, but I rizzed up in spite of his efforts. Get away from that cabin! screamed the mayor, but it was too late. I hit Cousin Bearfield between the eyes and he crashed into the mayor's rock chimney and knocked the whole base loose with his head, and the chimney collapsed and the rocks come tumbling down on him. But, being a Texas buckner, Bearfield rizzed out of the ruins. He not only rizzed, but he had a rock in his hand about the size of a watermelon, and he busted it over my head. This infuriated me, because I seen he had no intention of fighting fair, so I tore a log out of the wall of the mayor's cabin and belted him over the ear with it, and Cousin Bearfield bit the dust. He didn't get up that time. While Si was trying to get my breath back and shaking the sweat out of my eyes, all the citizens of Cougar Paw come out of their hiding places, and the sheriff yelled, You done a good job, Elkins. You're a free man. He is like hell! screamed Mayor Middleton, doing a kind of war dance, while sweeping and Cousin together. Look at my cabin! I'm a ruined man! Sheriff, arrest that man! Witchin, inquired the sheriff. The feller from Texas, said Middleton bitterly. He's unconscious, and it won't be no trouble to drag him to jail. Run the other now to town. I don't never want to see him no more. Hey, I said indignantly. You can't arrest Cousin Bearfield. I ain't gonna stand for it. Will you resist the officer of the law? asked the sheriff, sticking his gallus out with his thumb. You represents the law whilst you wear your badge, I inquired. As long as I got that badge on, both see. I am the law. Well, I said, spittin' on my hands. You ain't got it on now. You done lost it somewhere in the shuffle tonight, and you ain't nothing but a common citizen like me. Get ready, for I'm coming head on and wide open. I whoop me a whoop. He glanced down in a stunned sort of way at his empty gallus. Then he give a scream and took out up the street with most of the crowd, streaming out behind him. Stop you cowards! screamed Mayor Middleton. Come back here and arrest these scoundrels. Ah, shut up, I said, disgustedly, and give him a kind of push. And how was I to know it would dislocate his shoulder-blade? It was just beginning to get light by now, but Cousin Bearfield wasn't showing those signs of consciousness, and I heard them cougar-paw skunks yelling to each other back and forth from the cabins where they'd forted themselves, and from what they said, I knowed they figured on opening up on us with their Winchester's, as soon as it got light enough to shoot good. Just then I noticed a wagon standing down by the wagon-yard so I picked up Cousin Bearfield, and lugging down there and throwing him into the wagon, far be it from Elkins to leave a senseless relative to the mercy of a cougar-paw mob. I went into the corral where them two wild mules was, and started putting harness onto them, and it warn't no child-play. They hadn't never been worked before, and they fell onto me with a free and hearty enthusiasm. Once they had me down stomping on me, and the citizens of Cougar-paw made a kind of half-hearted sally. But I unlimbered my forty-fives and throwed a few slugs in their direction, and they all hollered and run back into their cabins. I finally had to stun them full mules with a bat over the ear with my fist, and before they got their senses back, I had them harness to the wagon, and Captain Kidd and Cousin Bearfield's horse tied to the rear end. He's stealing our mules, held somebody, and taken a wild shot at me as I headed down the street, standing up in the wagon, and keeping them crazy critters straight, by sheer strength on the lines. I ain't stealing nothing, I roared as we thundered past the cabins, where spurts of flame was already streaking out of the winders. I'll send this here wagon and these mules back to mar. The citizens answered with bloodthirsty yells on a volley of lead, and with their benediction, singing past my ears, I left Cougarpaw in a cloud of dust and profanity. Then mules, after a vain effort to stop and kick loose from the harness, laid their bellies to the ground and went stampede down that crooked mountain road like scared jackrabbits. We went around each curve on one wheel, and sometimes we'd hit a stump and throw the whole wagon several foot into the air, and that must have been what brung Cousin Bearfield to itself. He was laying sprawled in the bed, and finally we took a bump that throwed him in a somersault, clean to the other end of the wagon. He hit on his neck and risen up on his hands and knees and looked round daisily at the trees and stump switches flashing past. And bellard, what the hell's happened? Where at am I, anyway? You're on your way to Bear Creek, Cousin Bearfield, I yelled, cracking my whip over them fool mules backs. Yippee-ki-yay! This here's fun, ain't it, Cousin Bearfield? I was thinking of Joan waiting with her store-bought shoes for me down the road, and in spite of my cuts and bruises I was rolling high and handsome. Slow up, roared Cousin Bearfield, trying to stand up, but just then we went crashing down a steep bank, and the wagon tilted, throwing Cousin Bearfield to the other end of the wagon, for he rammed his head with great force against the front gate. Expletive deleted, says Cousin Bearfield, glugged, because we had hit the creek bed, going full speed, and knocked all the water out of the channel, and about a hundred gallons splashed over into the wagon, and nearly washed Cousin Bearfield out. If I ever get out of this alive, promised Cousin Bearfield, I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do. But at that moment the mules stampeded up the bank, on the other side, and Cousin Bearfield was catapulted to the rear end of the wagon so hard, he knocked out the end gate with his head, and nearly went out after it, only he just managed to grab himself. We went plunging along the road, and the wagon hopped from stump to stump, and sometimes it crashed through a thicket of brush. Captain Kidd and the other horse was thundering after us, and the mules was braying, and I was whooping, and Cousin Bearfield was cussing, and pretty soon I looked back at him and hollered, Hold on, Cousin Bearfield, I'm going to stop these critters. We're close to the place where my gal will be waiting for me. Look out, you blame fool! screamed Cousin Bearfield, and then the mules left the road, and went one on each side of a white oak tree, and the tongue splintered, and they run right out of the harness and kept hightail in it. But the wagon piled up on that tree with a jolt that throwed me and Cousin Bearfield head first into a blackjack thicket. Cousin Bearfield vowed and swore, when he got back home, that I picked this thicket special on account of a hornet's nest that was there, and drove into it plum deliberate, which same as a lie which I'll stuff down his gizzard next time I cut his sign. He claimed they was trained hornets which I educated not to sting me, but the fact was I had since enough to lay there plum quiet, Cousin Bearfield was fool enough to run. Well, he knows by this time I reckon that the fastest man afoot can't no ways match speed with a hornet. He'd taken out through the brush and thickets yelping and hollering, and hopping most bodacious. He'd run in a circle too, for in three minutes he'd come bellerin' back, gave one last hop, and dove back into the thicket. By this time I figured he'd wore the hornets out, so I came alive again. I extricated myself first and located Cousin Bearfield by his profanity. I laid hold onto his hind leg and pulled him out. He lost most of his clothes in the process, and his temper wasn't no better. He seemed to blame me for his misfortunes. Don't touch me, he said fiercely. Leave me be. I'm as close to Bear Creek right now as I want to be. Hors my Haas. The Haas's had broke loose when the wagon piled up, but they hadn't gone far, because they was fighting with each other in the middle of the road. Bearfield's Haas was about as big and mean as Captain Kidd. We separated him, and Bearfield clumbed aboard without a word. Where you going, Cousin Bearfield, I asked, as far away from you as I can, he said bitterly. I've saw all the Elkinsons I can stand for a while. Doubtless your intentions is good, but a man better get chaud by lions than rescued by an Elkins. And with a few more observations which highly shocked me, and which I won't repeat, he rode off at full speed, looking very peculiar because his pants was about all that hadn't been tore off him, and he had scratches and bruises all over him. I was sorry, Cousin Bearfield was so sensitive, but I didn't waste no time brooding over his ingratitude. The sun was up, and I know Joan would be waiting for me where the path come down onto the road from the mountain. Sure enough, when I come to the mouth of the trail, there she was. But she didn't have on her store-bought shoes, and she looked flustered and scared. Breckenridge! she hollered, running up to me before I could say a word. Something terrible's happened. My brother was in Cougarpaul last night, and a big bully beat him up something awful. Some men are bringing him home on a stretcher. One of them rode ahead to tell me. How come I didn't pass him on the road, I said? And she said, they walked and taken a short cut through the hills. There they come now. I seen some men come on to the road a few hundred yards away and come toward us, lugging somebody on a stretcher, like she said. Come on, she says, tugging at my sleeve. Get down off your horse and come with me. I want him to tell you who done it so you can whoop the scoundrel. I got an idea. I know who done it, I said, climbing down. But I'll make sure. I figured it was one of Cousin Bearfield's victims. Why, who look? said Joan. How funny the men are acting since you started toward them. They've sought down the litter, and they're running off into the woods. Bill, she shrilled as we drawed an eye. Bill, are you hurt bad? A busted leg and some broke ribs moaned the victim on the litter, which also had his head so bandaged I didn't recognize him. Then he sought up with a howl. What's that Ruffian doing with you? He roared into my amazement. I recognized Bill Santry. Why, he's a friend of Iron Bill, Joan begun, but he interrupted her loudly and profanely. Friend, hell, he's John Elkin's brother, and furthermore he's the one which is responsible for the crippled and mutilated condition in which you now seize me. Joan said nothing. She turned and looked at me in a very peculiar manner, then dropped her eyes shyly to the ground. Now, Joan, I begun, when all at once I saw what she was looking for. One of the men had dropped to Winchester before he run off. Her first bullet knocked off my hat as I forked Captain Kidd, and her second, third, and fourth missed me so close I felt their hot wind. Then Captain Kidd rounded a curve with his belly to the ground, and my busted romance was left far behind me. A couple of days later a mass of heartaches and bruises, which might have been recognized as Breckenridge Elkin's The Pride of Bear Creek, rode slowly down the trail that led to the settlements on the aforementioned creek. And as I rode it was my fortune to meet my brother John coming up the trail on foot. Where you've been, he greeted me hypocritically. You look like you've been wrestling a pack of mountain lions. I eased myself down from the saddle and said without heat. Joan, just what was it that Bill Santry promised you? Oh, says John with a laugh. I skinned him in a hostile trade before I left Cougarpaw, and he promised if he ever met me he'd give me the licking of my life. I'm glad you don't hold no hard feelings, Breck. It were just a joke, me sending you up there. You can take a joke, can't you? Sure, I said. By the way, John, how's your toe? It's all right, says he. Let me see, I insisted, set your foot on that stump. He done so, and I give it an awful belt with a butt of my Winchester. That there is a receipt for your joke, I grunted, as he danced around on one foot and wept and swore, and so saying I mounted and rode on in gloomy grandeur. Elkins always pays his debts. End of The Riot at Cougarpaw. End of Bear Creek Collection, Volume 1, by Robert Howard.