Desert reclamation -- California -- Fiction; Love stories; Western stories
"No Man's, is ut; an' ut looks that same. Where did ye say ye was
thryin' to go?"
"We're headed for Rubio City. This here is the old San Felipe trail."
"Uh-huh! So _we're_ goin' to Rubio City, are we? For all I know that
may as well be nowhere at all. Well, well, ut's news av intherest to
me. _We_ are goin' to Rubio City. Ut may be that ye would exshplain,
Sorr, how I come to be here at all."
"Sure Mike! You come in this here wagon from San Felipe."
At the drawling answer the hot blood flamed in the face of the
short-tempered Irishman and the veins in his thick neck stood out as if
they would burst. "Me name's not Mike at all, but Patrick Mooney!" he
roared. "I've two good eyes in me head that can see yer danged old
wagon for meself, an' fwhat's more I've two good hands that can break
ye in bits for the impedent dried herrin' that ye are, a-thinkin' ye
can take me anywhere at all be abductin' me widout me consent. For a
sup o' wather I'd go to ye--" He turned quickly to look behind him for
the driver was calmly pointing toward the end of the seat. "Fwhat is
ut? Fwhat's there?" he demanded.
"The water," drawled the dark-faced man. "I don't reckon you drunk it
all the other time."
Again the big man lifted the canteen and drank long and deep. When he
had wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy hand and had returned
the canteen to its place, he faced his companion--his blue eyes
twinkling with positive approval. Scratching his head meditatively, he
said: "An' all because av me wantin' to enjoy the blessin's an'
advantages av civilization agin afther three long months in that danged
gradin' camp, as is the right av ivery healthy man wid his pay in his
pocket."
The teamster laughed softly. "You was sure enjoyin' of it a-plenty."
The other looked at him with quickened interest. "Ye was there?" he
asked.
"Some," was the laconic reply.
The Irishman scratched his head again with a puzzled air. "I
disremimber entire. Was there some throuble maybe?"
The other grinned. "Things was movin' a few."
Patrick Mooney nodded his head. "Uh-huh: mostly they do under thim
circumstances. Av course there'd be a policeman, or maybe two?"
"Five," said the man with the lines, gently.
"Five! Howly Mither! I did mesilf proud. An' did they have the wagon?
Sure they wud--five policemen niver walked. Wan av thim might, av ut
was handy-like, but five--niver! Tell me, man, who else was at the
party? No--howld on a minut!" He interrupted himself, "Thim cops
stimulate me mimory a bit. Was there not a bunch av sailor-men from wan
av thim big ships?"
The driver nodded.
The other, pleased with the success of his mental effort, continued:
"Uh-huh--an' I was havin' a peaceful dhrink wid thim all whin somewan
made impedent remarks touchin' me appearance, or ancestors, I
disremimber which. But where was you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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