Cowboys -- Fiction; Montana -- Fiction; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
“That's funny, too. Ha-ha some more.” Miguel permitted a thin ribbon of
smoke to slide from between his lips, and gazed off to the crinkled line
of hills.
“Sure, it is--now you mention it,” Weary agreed after a perceptible
pause.
“How fortunate that I brought the humor to your attention,” drawled
Miguel, in the same expressionless tone, much as if he were reciting a
text.
“Virtue is its own penalty,” paraphrased Pink, not stopping to see
whether the statement applied to the subject.
“Haw-haw-haw!” roared Big Medicine, quite as irrelevantly.
“He-he-he,” supplemented the silver-trimmed one.
Big Medicine stopped laughing suddenly, reined his horse close to the
other, and stared at him challengingly, with his pale, protruding eyes,
while the Happy Family glanced meaningly at one another. Big Medicine
was quite as unsafe as he looked, at that moment, and they wondered if
the offender realized his precarious situation.
Miguel smoked with the infinite leisure which is a fine art when it is
not born of genuine abstraction, and none could decide whether he was
aware of the unfriendly proximity of Big Medicine. Weary was just on the
point of saying something to relieve the tension, when Miguel blew the
ash gently from his cigarette and spoke lazily.
“Parrots are so common, out on the Coast, that they use them in cheap
restaurants for stew. I've often heard them gabbling together in the
kettle.”
The statement was so ambiguous that the Happy Family glanced at him
doubtfully. Big Medicine's stare became more curious than hostile,
and he permitted his horse to lag a length. It is difficult to fight
absolute passivity. Then Slim, who ever tramped solidly over the flowers
of sarcasm, blurted one of his unexpected retorts.
“I was just wonderin', by golly, where yuh learnt to talk!”
Miguel turned his velvet eyes sleepily toward the speaker. “From the
boarders who ate those parrots, amigo,” he smiled serenely.
At this, Slim--once justly accused by Irish of being a “single-shot”
when it came to repartee--turned purple and dumb. The Happy Family,
forswearing loyalty in their enjoyment of his discomfiture, grinned and
left to Miguel the barren triumph of the last word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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