Friar Tuck Part 13

this flung me up again' her side. I managed to hang on to the rope, however, an' this fixed her, 'cause she'd have had to pull that rock over before she could 'a' come any farther. Horace had stopped an' was gappin' at us from a safe distance; but Tank arrived by this time an'

put another rope on her an' we had her cross-tied between two big rocks by the time Horace arrived.

"What ya goin' to kill her with?" he asked, his eyes dancin' like an Injun's at the beef whack-up.

"My cartridges are all gone," sez Tank.

"Mine too," sez I.

"Can't you use a knife, or a stone?" sez Horace, the dude.

"You can try it if you want to," sez I; "but hanged if I will."

He took a big stone an' walked to the head of the cow, but his nerve gave out, an' he threw down the stone. "What in thunder did you tie her up for, then?" sez he.

"I beg your pardon," sez I, "but I thought perhaps she might be a little vexed with you on account o' your shootin' her up. She was headed your way."

He sat down on a stone an' looked at the cow resentful. Suddenly his face lit up. "Why don't you milk her?" sez he. "We can live on milk for weeks."

It's funny how much alike hungry animals look. As Horace sat on the stone with his anxious face, his poppin' eyes, his mussed up side-burns, an' the water drippin' from his mouth at thought o' the milk, he looked so much like a setter pup I once knew that it was all I could do to hold a straight face.

"Do you know how to milk, Tank?" I sez.

"I don't," sez Tank; "nor I don't know what it tastes like."

"Go ahead an' milk her, Mr. Bradford," I sez. "You're the only one what knows how to milk, or who cares to drink it. What you goin' to milk it in?"

"I never milked in my life," sez he; "but I saw it done once when I was a boy, an' I'm goin' to try to milk in my hat."

He had a bad time of it; but he only got kicked twice, an' both times it was short, glancin' blows, not much more 'n shoves. Finally, he came over to where me an' Tank was settin' an' flopped himself down beside us. "Can't you strangle her with those ropes?" he sez, in what might well be called deadly earnest.

We shook our heads, an' continued to sit there lookin' at the cow as though we expected she'd point the way out of our trouble. Presently the calf remembered his own appet.i.te, an' rushed up an' gave a demonstration of what neat an' orderly milkin' was. Horace sighed.

"Gee, I bet that's good," he said, the water drippin' from his lips again. He had been four days without food, walkin' all that time through the mountains, sleepin' out doors with no cover but a slicker; and he had about burned up all his waste products, which Friar Tuck said was a city man's greatest handicap. His eyes got a little red as he watched the calf, an' I saw that he meant to slaughter it; so I sez to him: "That's the way to milk, Mr. Bradford. Why don't you sneak up on the other side an' try it that way, the same time the calf is?"

He studied a moment, an' then shook his head. "No, she could tell me from the calf," he said sorrowful. "Our foreheads are shaped different, an' I'd have to get down on my hands and knees. She'd tell me in a minute, an' I don't want to be on my hands an' knees when she kicks me."

"We could throw an' hog-tie her," sez Tank; "and you could get it easy an' comfortable. Would you want us to do that, Mr. Bradford?"

Horace jumped to his feet an' shook his fist in Tank's face. "Don't call me Mister again," he yelled. "I'm plumb sick of it. If I ever live to get another bath an' back East where the's food in plenty, why, I'll take up the Mister again; but now that I've got to a point where I have to suck milk from a hog-tied cow, you call me Horace, or even d.i.n.ky-which was my nickname at school. Yes, for heaven's sake, tie the cow. I have to have milk, an' that's the only way I see to get it."

Well, Tank an' I was so full o' laugh we could hardly truss up the cow; but we finally got her on her back so 'at she couldn't do nothin'

but snap her tail, an' then Horace threw his hat on the ground, an'

started in. I was entirely joyful: I knew 'at Spider Kelley, an' as many o' the boys as could sneak away, were watchin' us from up on the hill, an' this was the grand triumph of my treatment for nerves.

Horace approached the cow with consid'able caution, as she was in an awkward position. The calf had been interrupted in his meal, before he had squenched his thirst, an' he was still prospectin' about on his own hook.

"Here," said Horace, givin' him a push, "this is my turn."

You know how a calf is: a calf ain't afeared o' nothin' except hunger.

Here was his food-supply bein' robbed, right when he was needin' it.

He blatted down in his throat, an' tried to nose Horace out of the way. Horace was findin' that milk the best stuff he had ever tasted, an' he fought off the calf with his right hand, while he steadied himself by puttin' his left on the hind leg o' the calf's mother, an'

got a nice coat o' creamy froth in his side-burns. He was so blame hungry he didn't see a speck o' humor in it; but me an' Tank nearly died.

"Say," sez Horace, raisin' his head, the milk drippin' from his lips, "can't one o' you fellers fend off this calf till I finish?"

Tank held the calf while I advised Horace to be temperate, an' after a bit he gave a sigh an' said, that that was all he could hold just then, but not to let the cow escape. We loosened her, left one o' the ropes on for a drag picket, an' took off the other. She was purty well subdued; but we refused to give Horace any more milk that night, an'

he went to sleep before we had a fire built. Spider Kelley was wabblin' with laughter when he brought us our supper. He had been the only one who could stay after bringin' up the cow; but he said he wouldn't 'a' missed it for three jobs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A COMPLETE CURE

Next mornin' we fed Horace all the milk he could hold, an' tried to drive the cow along with us; but her hoofs had been pared so thin that it made her cross an' we had to give that projec' up.

"How far are we from the ranch house?" asked Horace.

"About sixty miles," sez Tank.

"That's what I thought," sez he. "Now, I can't see any sense in all of us hoofin' that distance. I'd go if I knew the way; but one of you could go, an' the other stay with me an' the cow. Then the one which went could bring back food on the buckboard, and it would be as good as if we all went."

Now this was a fine scheme; but neither Tank nor I had thought of it.

We had intended to follow our own windin' circle back every step o'

the way; but when the milk set Horace's brain to pumpin', he fetched up this idee which saved us all a lot o' bother.

"I shall go myself," sez Tank; "weak as I am, I'll go myself."

It was only about fifteen or twenty miles by the short cut, an' this would get him back to regular meals in short order; so he left me his rope an' set out. Horace helped me with the cow that night, an' he proved purty able help. He was feelin' fine, an' the milk had filled him out wonderful. He said he hadn't felt so rough 'n' ready for twenty years; but Spider Kelley failed to arrive with my meal that night, and I went to bed feelin' purty well disgusted. Tank had met him before noon that day, an' he had gone in for a hoss; and they had decided that it would be a good stunt to give me some o' my own treatment.

Next mornin' I felt as empty as a balloon; so after Horace had enjoyed himself, I took a little o' the same, myself; but I didn't take it like he did. I held my mouth open an' squirted it in, an' it was mighty refres.h.i.+n'.

"Huh," sez Horace, "you're mightily stuck up. The calf's way is good enough for me."

"I got a split lip," I sez, half ashamed o' myself.

They left us there three days to allow for the time it would have taken Tank to walk if it had been as far as we claimed it was; and then Tillte Dutch drove out the buckboard. He said 'at Spider an' Tank had quit and gone into Boggs for a little recreation; but after I had eaten my first meal out o' the grub he brought, I didn't bear 'em any ill will. The joke was on me as much as it was on Horace; but I'd 'a'

gone through twice as much to test that theory, an' I'd had the full worth o' my bother. Horace was a new man: he was full o' vim an' snap, an' he gave me credit for it an' became mighty friendly an'

confidential.

He stood up in the buckboard an' made a farewell speech to the cow which lasted ten minutes. He also apologized to the calf, an' told him that when he got back East, he would raise his hat every time he pa.s.sed a milk wagon. He sure felt in high spirits, and made up a ramblin' sort of a song which lasted all the way back to the house. It had the handiest tune ever invented and he got a lot o' fun out of it.

It began:

"Oh we walked a thousand miles without eatin' any food, An' then we met a cow an' calf, an' gee, but they looked good!

Her eyes like ancient Juno's were so in-o-cent an' mild, We couldn't bear to take her life, we only robbed her child.

She strove to save the lactual juice to feed her darling boy; So we had to fling her on her back to fill our souls with joy.

Now Tank an' Happy were too proud to compete with a calf, So they sat them down an' dined on wind, while they weakly tried to laugh.

I'm but a simple-minded cuss, not proud like one of these; So I filled myself so full of milk, I'm now a cottage cheese."