Friar Tuck Part 33

"That's the best idee you've put over," sez Badger, after he'd thought it out; "but I haven't enough taste for life to make the experiment.

Don't fuss about me any more. I don't suffer a mite. I feel just like a feller in the Injun country, goin' to sleep on post after days in the saddle. He knows it'll mean death, but he's too tired out to care a white bean."

"Have you ever been in the army?" asked the Friar from his place in the corner. We all gave a little start at the sound of his voice, for it came with a snap an' unexpected.

Badger's lips dropped back for another hideous grin. "Yes," he said, "I've been in both the penitentiary and the army-and they're a likely pair."

"Did you have a buck-skin bag?" asked the Friar, comin' up to the bed.

Badger-face tried to raise himself on his elbow, but he couldn't quite make it. "Yes, I did," sez he, droppin' back again. "What became of it?"

"I am keepin' it for ya," sez the Friar. "Do you wish to leave any word in case you do not recover?"

"No," sez Badger, "the' ain't no one to leave word to. That letter was from my mother, an' that was her picture. She's been dead a long string o' years now."

"There was another picture an' a newspaper clippin'," sez the Friar.

Badger-face didn't give no heed; an' after a time the Friar sez: "What shall I do with them?"

"Throw 'em away," sez Badger-face. "They don't concern me none. I was more took with that woman's picture 'n airy other I ever saw. That was all."

"Where did you get it?" asked the Friar.

"I got it from a young Dutchy," sez Badger wearily. "He killed a feller over at Leadville an' came out here an' took on with Ty Jones.

He said she was an opery singer, an' got drugged at a hotel where he was workin'."

Badger-face was gettin' purty weak by now, an' he stopped with a sort of sigh. The Friar took holt of his hand. "I am very much interested in this woman," he said, lookin' into Badger's face as if tryin' to give him life enough to go on with. "Can you tell me anything else about her?"

"Not much," sez Badger-face. "She was singin' at what he called the Winter Garden at Berlin, Germany. Some Austrian n.o.bility got mashed on her an' drugged her at the hotel. Dutchy was mashed on her, too, I reckon. They had advertised for him in a New York paper, an' when he got shot, over at Little Monte's dance hall, he asked me to write about it. His mother had died leavin' property, an' all they wanted was to round up the heirs. I reckon they were glad enough to have Dutchy scratched from the list. I don't know why I did keep that clippin'."

"Have you any idee how long ago it was 'at the woman was drugged?"

asked the Friar.

"I haven't any idee," sez Badger-face weakly. "Carl was killed four years ago this Christmas eve; so it had to be before that."

"Listen to me, Badger-face," sez the Friar, grippin' his hand tight.

"I want you to get well. I know that all these men will stand by you and help you to start a new life."

"How long is it since I've been laid up?" asked Badger.

"Two weeks," sez the Friar. "This is two days after Christmas."

"Who tended to me?" asked Badger.

"We all did," sez the Friar, "and we all stand ready to help you make a new start."

"I had a good enough start," sez Badger; "but I fooled it away, an'

I'm too old now to make a new one."

"Is there any word you want sent to your friends at Ty Jones's?" asked the Friar.

Once more Badger skinned his face into the grin. "Friends?" sez he.

"When you trap a wolf, does he send any word to his friends? I haven't got no friends."

"Swallow this milk," sez Horace holdin' some of it out to him in a big spoon. Kit had made Olaf start to milkin' a cow, 'cause she wanted to use milk in cookin', and intended to make b.u.t.ter when she had the cream saved up. Badger put the milk in his mouth, an' then spit it out again.

"Don't you put anything else in my mouth," he sez. "I told you I was goin' to die; an' by blank, I am goin' to die."

"Fellers," sez Horace, turnin' to us, "do you think this man is goin'

to die?" We all nodded our heads. "Then, will you give his life to me, to do with as I will?" asked Horace; and we nodded our heads again.

Horace took off his coat, an' rolled up his sleeves, an' then he came over an' shook Badger-face by the shoulder. "Listen to me," he sez. "I fought ya once before, for your life, and I'm goin' to fight you for it now. Do you hear what I say-I'm goin' to fight you for your own life. I'm goin' to make you swallow milk, if I have to tie you an'

pour it in through a funnel. You can't hold your breath an' fight, an'

I'm goin' to fight you."

Badger-face opened his eyes an' looked up into Horace's face. He looked a long time, an' the ghost of a smile crept into his face.

"Well, you're the doggonedest little cuss I ever saw!" he exclaimed.

He waited a long time, an' then set his teeth. "You beat me once," he muttered. "Now, see if you can beat me again."

It was after midnight; so when Horace dropped the hint that he wouldn't need any help except from me an' the Friar, the rest o' the boys dug out for the bunk shack. Then Horace took us over to the fireplace an' asked us what was the best thing to do.

"I do believe 'at you have stumbled on the right plan to save him,"

sez the Friar. "He has no fever, the wound is doin' splendid, and he has a powerful const.i.tution. The trouble is that he does not will to live. We must spur on his will, and if we can make him fight back, this'll help. Also we must control him as much as possible through suggestion. Have you any plan o' your own?"

"No," sez Horace candidly. Horace didn't need anything for any emergency except his own nerve. "I am determined that he must live, but I have no plan."

"The first thing is to give him a little warm milk," sez the Friar.

"All right," sez Horace. "You tell me what to do-by signs, as much as possible-but let me give the orders to Badger-face. My size has made an impression on him, and we can't afford to lose a single trick." The Friar agreed to this an' we went back to the bunk.

"Badger-face," sez Horace, "I'd rather give you this milk peaceful; but I'm goin' to give it to ya, an' you can bet what ya like on that."

Badger opened his eyes again, an' they were dull an' glazy. "This reminds me o' the water-cure at the pen," he said, an' then set his teeth.

"Hold his hands, Happy," sez Horace, as full o' fight as a snow-plow.

"Hold his head, Friar. Now then, swallow or drown."

It looked purty inhuman, but Badger had to swallow after a bit, an'

when we had put as much milk into him as we wanted-only a couple o'

spoonfuls-we let him go, an' he fell asleep, pantin' a little. We woke him up in half an hour, an' put some more milk into him. When he slept, his breathin' was more like natural, an' the fourth time, I didn't have to hold his hands; so I went to sleep myself.

Well, Horace won this fight, too. In about four days, Badger-face began to have an appet.i.te, an' then it was all off with him. He couldn't have died if we'd left him plumb alone; but he hadn't give up yet. The Friar kept him down to a mighty infan-tile diet, sayin' that a lung shot was a bad one, an' the pure mountain air was all that had saved him; but even now fever was likely to come back on him.

It was close to the tenth o' January when Horace came in from a ride one evenin', an' went in to see Badger-face, still wearin' his gun.

Quick as a wink, Badger grabbed the gun; but Horace threw himself on Badger's arm, an' yelled for help. The Friar an' Olaf rushed in from the lean-to, an' corraled the gun in short order.

"You blame little bob-cat, you!" sez Badger. "I didn't intend to use the gun on you."

"I know what you intended to do," sez Horace; "but you don't win this deal as easy as all that."