“Aw, gwan! Jakie wouldn’t touch nothing when he was in town,” Happy Jack objected. “I betche he’s gone crazy, or else—”
“Well,” interrupted the horse-wrangler, “I’ve told yuh what I know and all I know. Take it or leave it.” He rode back to turn the lead-horse from climbing a ridge where he did not want the herd to follow. He did not lend Happy Jack his gun, and for that reason—perhaps—Jakie remained alive and unpunctured until the first of the riders came loping in to camp.
The first riders happened to be Pink and Big Medicine. They were met by a tearful, contrite Jakie—a Jakie who seemed much inclined to weeping upon their shirt-fronts and to confessing all his sins, particularly the sin of trying to carve Happy Jack. That perturbed gentleman made his irate appearance as soon as he found that reinforcements had arrived.
Big Medicine disengaged himself from the clinging arms of the chef, sniffed suspiciously and wiped away the tears from his vest. “Well, say,” he bellowed in his usual manner of trying to make all Chouteau County hear what he had to say, “I ain’t t’ blame if he got away on yuh. Yuh hadn’t ought to uh done it—or else yuh oughta made a clean job of it sos’t we could hang yuh proper. Supper ready?”
“It is that the supply of eggs is inadequate,” wept Jakie, steadying himself against the tent-pole while he wiped his eyes upon his apron. “Because of it I could not prepare the floating island—and without the dessert I have not the heart to prepare the dinner, yes? It is that I am breaking of the heart that I assail the good friend of me. Oh, Mr. Happy, it is that I crave pardon!”
Happy Jack came near taking to his heels again when he saw Jakie start for him; he did back up hastily, and his evident reluctance to embrace and forgive started afresh the tears of remorse. Jakie wailed volubly and, catching Pink unaware, he wept upon his bosom.
Others came riding in, saw the huddle before the mess-tent and came up to investigate. With every fresh arrival Jakie began anew his confession that he had attempted to murder his good friend, Mr. Happy, and with every confession he wept more copiously than before.
The Happy Family tacitly owned itself helpless. A warlike cook they could deal with. A lazy cook they could kick into industry. A weeping, wailing, conscience-stricken cook, a cook who steadfastly refused to be comforted, was an absolutely new experience. They told him to buck up, found that he only broke out anew, threatened, cajoled and argued. Jakie clung to whoever happened to be within reach and mixed the English language unmercifully.
“Happy, you’ll have to forgive him,” said Weary at last. “Go tell him yuh don’t feel hard towards him. We want some supper.”
“Aw, gwan. I ain’t forgive him, and I never will. I—”
Big Medicine stepped into the breach. With his face contorted into a grin to crimple one’s spine, with a voice to make one’s knees buckle, he went up to Happy Jack and thrust that horrible grin into Happy’s very face. “By cripes, you forgive Jakie, and you do it quick!” he thundered. “Think you’re going to ball up the eating uh the whole outfit whilst you stand around acting haughty? Why, by cripes, I’ve killed men in the Coconino County for half what you’re doing! You’ll wish, by cripes, that Jakie had slit your hide; you’ll consider that woulda been an easy way out, before I git half through with yuh. You walk right up and shake hands with him, and you tell him that yuh love him to death and are his best friend and always will be! Yuh hear me?”
Happy Jack heard. The Happy Family considerately moved aside and left him a clear path, and they looked on without a word while he took Jakie’s limp hand, muttered tremulously, “Aw, fergit it, Jakie. I know yuh didn’t mean nothing by it, and I forgive yuh,” and backed away again.
Jakie wept, this time with gratitude. They got him inside a tent, unrolled his bed and persuaded him to lie down upon it. They searched the mess-box, found all that was left of a quart bottle of whisky, took it outside and divided it gravely and appreciatively among themselves. There was not much to divide.
Happy Jack took charge of the pots and pans, with the whole Happy Family to help him hurry supper, while Jakie forgot his woes in sleep and the sun set upon a quiet camp.
Next morning, Jakie was up and cooking breakfast at the appointed time, and the camp felt that the incident of the evening before might well be forgotten. The coffee was unusually good that morning, even for Jakie. He was subdued, was Jakie, and his soft, brown eyes were humble whenever they met the eyes of Happy Jack. His smile was infrequent and fleeting, and his voice more deprecating than ever. Aside from these minor changes everything seemed the same as before the sheepmen had stopped at camp.
That afternoon, however, came an aftermath in the shape of Happy Jack galloping wildly out to where the others were holding a herd and “cutting out.” He was due to come and help, so nobody paid any attention to his haste, though it was his habit to take his time. He shot recklessly by the outer fringes of the “cut” and yelled in a way to stampede the whole bunch. “Jakie’s dying,” he shouted, wild-eyed. “He’s drunk up all the lemon extract and most uh the v’nilla before I could stop him!”
Chip and Weary, riding in hot haste to the camp, found that it was true as far as the drinking was concerned. Jakie was stretched upon his back breathing unpleasantly, and beside him were two flat bottles of half-pint size, one empty and the other very nearly so; the tent and Jakie’s breath reeked of lemon and vanilla. Chip sent back for help.
For the second time the Flying U roundup was brought to an involuntary pause because of its cook. There was but one thing to do, and Chip did it. He broke camp, loaded Jakie into the bed-wagon, and headed at a gallop for Dry Lake in an effort to catch the next train for Great Falls. Whether he sent Jakie to the hospital or to the undertaker was a question he did not attempt to answer; one thing was certain, however, that he must send him to one of those places as soon as might be.
That night, just before the train arrived, he sent another telegram to Johnny Scott at rush rates. He said simply:
“Send another cook immediately this one all in am returning him in baggage coach this train.
“C. BENNETT.”
Just after midnight he went to the station and received an answer, which is worth repeating:
“C. BENNETT, Dry Lake: Supply cooks running low am sending only available don’t kill this one or may have to go without season on cooks closed fine attached to killing, running with dogs or keeping in captivity this one drunk look for him in Pullman have bribed porter. J.G. SCOTT.”
It was sent collect, which accounts perhaps for the facetious remarks which it contained.
It was morning when that train arrived, because it was behind time for some reason, but Chip, Weary, Pink and Big Medicine were at the depot to meet it. The new cook having been reported drunk, they wanted to make sure of getting him off the train in case he proved unruly. They were wise in the ways of intoxicated cooks. They ran to the steps of the only Pullman on the train and were met by the grinning porter.
“Yas sah, he’s in dah—but Ah cyan’t git ’im off, sah, to save mah soul,” he explained toothily. “Ah put ’im next de front end, sah, but he’s went to sleep and Ah cyan’t wake ’em up, an’ Ah cyan’t tote ’em out nohow. Seems lak he weighs a ton!”
“By cripes, we’ll tote him out,” declared Big Medicine, pushing ahead of Chip in his enthusiasm. “You hold the train, and we’ll git ’im. Show us the bunk.”
The porter pointed out the number and retreated to the steps that he might signal the conductor. The four pushed up through the vestibule and laid hold upon the berth curtains.
“Mamma!” ejaculated Weary in a stunned tone. “Look what’s in here, boys!”
They thrust forward their heads and peered in at the recumbent form.
“Honest to grandma—it’s old Patsy!” The voice of Big Medicine brought heads out all along