Closed Range by Bliss Lomax

Author:Bliss Lomax
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781590774274
Publisher: M. Evans & Company

CHAPTER THIRTEEN DOGSOLDIER IS CURIOUS

RUBBING the back of his burly, leather-colored neck experimentally, Dogsoldier Olsen cocked a blue and cheerful eye at the street of Fetterman. He had just faced successfully the ordeal of a horse-clipper haircut, and was at peace with the wide world again.

“Hey, Dogsojer!”

Olsen turned as speedily as his enormous bulk would permit, and found at hand his old friend, Len Bain.

“Dogsojer, I was lookin’ fer you. I’m plumb afoot fer cash. Let’s go have a drink,” the latter engagingly proposed.

“Dot’s yust vot Ay ban tankin’ myself!” Dogsoldier responded. “Ay go you, Len. Let’s go in here an’ have von.”

They turned into the nearest saloon and had von. In a few minutes, at the suggestion of Len, they adjourned to a second saloon and had another. This was continued in a somewhat erratic rotation, until Dogsoldier was removing his broad-brimmed hat at intervals, and patting his well-nigh denuded poll to remind himself of his altered condition.

There was no mention of barb-wire. Dogsoldier told with zest how the tonsorial operation had been accomplished; how the clippers had struck this bone and that, and glanced off. He told how the stableman had grasped his ear, and he had bit his tongue and hung on. He was (now that it was over) the soul of amiability.

So was Len Bain, until he had imbibed what Dogsoldier considered to be enough for any man. They were in the street, scarcely a brace of doors from Michael & Mann’s. Dogsoldier did not appear to see the slim figure of Billy Catlin pausing in the door for a moment, and glancing back at them—but he did. Also he saw the highsign which Billy tipped to Len before he disappeared.

He was immediately curious, but he gave no indication of it.

Len started for Michael & Mann’s on the double-quick; then bethinking himself, he hesitated, turning back.

“Huh?” said Dogsoldier vaguely.

“Durn you, Dogso——” Len stared at him suspiciously. “Whut’re you followin’ me fer, anyway?”

Dogsoldier looked confused. “Ay don’t—hic—follerin’ nobody, Len!” His tone was injured.

“Wal! Jest see you don’t!” Len bristled pugnaciously. He swung away and strode with dignity toward the saloon, muttering to himself.

Dogsoldier stared after him, blinking.

“Ay ban sure curious about dis!” he muttered dully. “Len, he ain’t so drunk as dot, naw. Dot Catlin faller ban up to somet’ing, Ay tank, yah!”

He was still standing there when he perceived another acquaintance advancing from the other direction. It was Bitter Creek.

“Hallo, Bitter Creek!” Dogsoldier greeted him effusively. “Ay ban yust tank about you. Come on have a drink wit’ me! Ay feel lonely.”

Bitter Creek put on an expression of surprised gratification. “Why—uh—shore, Dogsojer! Right in here, ol’ top!”

They had their drink. Bitter Creek picked up the second, set it down again, and then suddenly turned on his companion. “Jings! Dogsojer,” he explained confidentially, “I done got a job. Jest remembered it. You jest wait right here, an’ I’ll be back. Savvy?”

“Yah! Oll righ’, Bitter Creek. Ay——”

But the latter had not waited for an answer. He was gone, leaving Dogsoldier to stare at his glass in struck silence.

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