A municipal feud
“I guess so. It must’ve been yore artillery that breezed me, likewise.”
“Good gosh!” said Indigo, a trifle shaky. “Le’s smoke.”
They manufactured their cigarettes in complete silence. Joe was
matchlessly serene; presently he began to smile. “Old Home week. I’ll
bet you organized this picnic, Indigo.”
“Say, that was a fine ruckus you boys staged las’ night in Jingle Bell!”
“Me?” countered Joe. “I wasn’t there. I come over today with the bunch
to see if I couldn’t help rescue the lad lef’ behind. Also to spread a
little peace talk.”
“Jingle Bell,” maintained Indigo with dignity, “has suffered long
enough. Why, that nice little town has been a vale o’ tears goin’ on
twenty years now. All because o’ Big Elk--” He bogged down there and
had to lean on Joe for data. “Say, what caused this scrappin’ in the
first place?”
“Don’t you know what yore fightin’ for?” demanded Joe.
“Oh,” said Indigo, waving an arm vaguely, “it looked ’sif they needed
help.”
“Listen,” drawled Joe, grinding his cigarette into the earth. “Thirty
years ago, Big Elk took the county seat away from Jingle Bell----”
“A blamed outrage!” broke in Indigo.
“--and the towns have been scrappin’ ever since. But lately it’d have
died down if certain parties hadn’t sorter fed the flames to keep it
goin’. Savee? Well, the sheriff is naturally a Big Elk gent. His life
wouldn’t be worth a plugged dime in Jingle Bell. So every time any
son-of-a-gun wants to escape the wrath o’ justice he hides out in
Jingle Bell. These certain parties know that. They need this kind o’
protection.”
“What parties--what for?”
“Rustlin’,” murmured Joe. “They’s two jaspers at the top o’ the heap.
One is a fella by name o’ Sweeny, from Big Elk. The other holes up at
Jingle Bell. Monicker’s Gabe Wales.”
“That hop-toad!” snorted Indigo. “Allus shootin’ off his face about Big
Elk.”
“Shore. Pays him to.”
* * * * *
Now Indigo was a forthright soul. Having once discovered an error in
the universe, he was all for righting it. So naturally enough his first
suggestion was for action. “Why not get these gents?”
“It would’ve been difficult--up to this mornin’,” answered Joe. “Only
a few folks knew about it. I got good friends, which is how I knew.
But this mornin’ Mister Sweeny made the mistake o’ venturin’ into
Trent county an’ the sheriff nails him on an old charge. Before Sweeny
dies he makes a complete statement of what it’s all about. Namin’ Gabe
Wales. Of course, Jingle Bell wouldn’t believe the yarn if a Big Elk
sheriff happened to tell it--so the Trent county sheriff is moseyin’
over to Jingle Bell to explain. Prob’ly there now.”
“So that caused all this ruckus,” murmured Indigo. “Well, it’s over now.
I ain’t sorry. I’m sorter fatigued with fightin’.”
But Joe Breedlove was not finished. Whereas Indigo always wanted to
wind up a matter as abruptly as possible, Joe loved to hemstitch a
few artistic posies into human relations. Said he, “Yeah, it’s over.
Now we’ll get both towns together at some place, have a banquet and
formally bury the hatchet.”
Indigo looked coldly at his partner. “It won’t do. Nossir, it won’t do.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno why not,” said Indigo, not given to analysis. “But it won’t
do.”
Joe, however, was set on his point. “It’ll be an experiment in the
mutability o’ human nature.”
“I don’t reco’nize the word,” grumbled Indigo, “but it shore sounds
harsh.”
Joe got up. “Of course, if you ain’t with me on the idea----”
“Who said I wasn’t with you?” barked Indigo--testily. “I only said it
was an awful idee. If yore so daggone bound up in it, all right, I’m
in. But you bet I’ll be ready to duck.”
They parted, each going to his horse and riding off. On the solitary
trip to Jingle Bell, Indigo shook his head more than once. “Sometimes
it seems to me Joe gets unnecessarily sentimental. It’ll be an awful
bust.”
* * * * *
It was sunset when Indigo reached town. And before he could get off his
horse, Petey and Ort came up to explain their retreat. “We figgered
mebbe them Big Elk boys was tryin’ to run a whizzer on us. So we dusted
for town. Didn’t know what had happened to you, anyhow. Say, heard the
news? Gabe Wales is in jail, complicated with rustlin’.”
“Sad--very sad,” said Indigo, though he seemed to bear up well under the
news.
“Sad?” snorted Petey. “Huh! You know what he an’ Sweeny of Big Elk was
a-doin’? A-fomentin’ trouble between the two towns, so’s their crew o’
rustlers could have a safe harbor in time o’ trouble! Ain’t that sweet,
now?”
Indigo nodded and went to the restaurant. After that he repaired to the
saloon where a royal greeting awaited him. He took the acclaim with due
modesty--tinged somewhat with gloom. For he heard the sacred precincts
of the Geyser echo with sentiments hitherto alien. Men were discussing
the town that for thirty odd years had been poison and plague to them;
and they were admitting, with a magnanimous show of impartiality, that
perhaps Jingle Bell had harbored unjust suspicions. The feeling seemed
to be that although Big Elk had practically stolen the county seat and
would likewise steal anything else that wasn’t riveted to the landscape,
yet there might be a few decent people over thereabouts. Anyhow, this
fighting business had gone on too long; it was time to quit--to live and
let live. Thus the spirit of fraternal concord rose from the ashes and
became a pale and fluttering ray, which in time and with careful nursing
might actually generate heat and energy. Indigo shook his head. It
looked as if a banquet was inevitable.
“It’ll be awful!” said he, to himself.
* * * * *
Big Elk’s formal invitation to the banquet reached Jingle Bell the
next day, borne by Joe Breedlove and three others. An equal number of
Jingle Bell dignitaries was hastily got together and the two parties
convened at the Geyser where a judicious amount of liquid was imbibed
to remove vocal impediments. Observations were made as to the weather
and the state of the beef stock; after that Joe Breedlove,
unmistakably the guiding spirit of his delegation, rehearsed a little
past history and proposed the banquet. The Jingle Bell committee
returned adequate compliments, promised to consider the matter and
referred to that remark made by the governor of North Carolina to the
governor of South Carolina. Immediately upon the departure of the Big
Elk delegation a convention of the citizens was summoned.
There were certain benighted gentlemen who saw no good in the
proposition, but the forces of progress gradually won. After all, it
wouldn’t be seemly for Jingle Bell to back down from any proposition
Big Elk made and the meeting got down to particulars. Obviously, the
affair couldn’t be held in either town--that would give one party too
great a bulge on the other. It was also suggested that the number of
each side should be the same, to wit, fifteen. Phil Layton, a veteran
of the country, set this number; and it is to be believed that he did
so after calculating the number of good shots available.
That was the sense of the convention. In due time it was conveyed to
Big Elk with congratulations, best regards, and all good wishes. Big
Elk thereupon called another convention and discussed Jingle Bell’s
amendments at ample length. Every comma, period and ink spot was
scrutinized for possible double-meaning and guile. But no colored man
was found in the woodpile. Presently it was decided that the Three
Pines ranch-house would make a suitable point at which to hold the
banquet, being situated midway between towns. It was further decided
that if Jingle Bell was so suspicious as to limit the number, then
fifteen tried and true stalwarts only should plant their boots under
the table on each side. And this was transmitted back to Jingle Bell
with felicitations, the greeting of the season, and happy sentiments.
* * * * *
Immediately Jingle Bell, in convention assembled, tore the latest
proposals quite apart, suspected trickery but could not find it, and
reluctantly assented; adding the further proviso that all guns should
be checked outside the door and that there should be one extra man
from each town to guard these weapons. Nor were there to be any other
kind of death-dealing instruments to be carried inside the house.
Pocket knives, it was agreed after considerable debate, would not be
considered as weapons. At this point Indigo left the Geyser and
studied the stars. “Civic harmony? It sounds like trouble hell-bent
around the corner to me. Somebody’s goin’ to get shot yet.”
* * * * *
After that a kind of grim silence settled over the county for thirty-six
hours. On each side, fifteen men and a gun guard were chosen. Certain
other arrangements, not exactly in the compact and somewhat shrouded by
obscurity, were made. And at exactly seven o’clock, as twilight fell,
the two parties met, dismounted together, gave up their guns together
and passed inside the Three Pines ranch-house. Stoic gravity marbled
each swart face; and the feast of amity began in silence, with potato
soup. Indigo had chosen the seat nearest the door; but observing Joe
Breedlove watching him from the remote end of the room, he sighed gently
and moved on down until he was across from his partner. There was a
hitch right at the beginning. It was discovered that an extra plate had
been laid, on each side of the table. The assembled gentry of Jingle
Bell looked gravely at the assembled Big Elk partisans. Joe Breedlove
rose up and said, “I reckon they misjudged the number we wanted. Let it
slide. No harm done.”
But a Big Elk man murmured, “Jes’ a minute,” and went outside. A
soft whistle cleft the darkness; the gentleman presently returned
with a recruit who took the empty plate on Big Elk’s side. At this
Joe Breedlove frowned upon his own townsmen, but nobody returned his
glance. A Jingle Bell cohort vanished into the shadows with equal
promptitude and had the same measure of success in finding another
man. A certain reserve contaminated the atmosphere, a certain
regrettable chill came at each wary eye. Indigo drank his soup
dourly. It may have been that there was an ironic flicker in his
green orbs when he looked to his partner; it may have been that Joe
Breedlove dropped a lid in reply. At any rate the tall partner rose,
his silver hair gleaming in the lamplight and a mellow smile on his
bronzed and handsome face. The very sight of him there was enough to
thaw the atmosphere; it was a rare time when Joe could not bend men
with the charm of his genial assurance, the quizzical humor of his
eyes. He looked from man to man and waved his arm across their heads
as if in benediction.
“Boys,” said he, drawling each syllable, “it does me good to see
this. They was some carping critics that maintained no good would
ever come of it. They was some gents that misdoubted these two nice,
upstandin’ little cities could ever meet in polite palaver. Those
fellows had the beam in their eyes.” He looked cheerfully at Indigo
and appeared not to see the leer of doubt upon his partner’s wizened
features. “Yeah, the beam in their eyes. Now me, I’m a son of Big
Elk. But I set a great store by the prosperity o’ the county. It has
shorely grieved me two such fine cities couldn’t abide in peace an’
put the civic shoulders to the wheel o’ the progress. After all, it
was the work of gents who wanted trouble for their own ends. It’s
settled now. We want to bury the bone o’ contention so deep that old
Nick’s own dog Nero won’t ever scratch it up. Now, I see a man over
on the Jingle Bell side that I used to punch cows for. A square,