Chapter VIII: Part 8

Happy Jack did not realize that he was doing two thirds of the work about the cook-tent, but that was a fact. Because Jakie could not drive the mess-wagon team, Happy Jack had been appointed his assistant. As assistant he drove the wagon from one camping place to another, "rustled" the wood, peeled the potatoes, tended fires and washed dishes, and did the thousand things which do not require expert hands, and which, in time of stress, usually falls to the horse-wrangler. Jakie was ever smiling and always promising, in his purring voice, to cook something new and delicious, and left with the leisure which Happy's industry gave him, he usually kept his promise.

"Now, Mr. Happy," he would smile, "I am agreeable to place the confidence in your so gracious person that you prepare the potatoes, yes? And that you attend to the boiling of meat and the unpacking and arrangement of those necessary furnishings for fich you possess the great understanding. And I shall prepare the so delicious dessert of the floating island, what you call in America. Yes? Our friends will have the so delightful astonishment when they arrive. They shall exclaim and partake joyously, is it not? And for your reward, Mr. Happy, I shall be so pleased to set aside a very extensive portion of the delicious floating island, so that you can eat no more except you endanger your handsome person from the bursting. Yes?" And oh, the smile of him!

A man of sterner stuff than Happy Jack would have fallen before such guile and would have labored willingly--nay, gladly in the service of so delightful a diplomat as Jakie. Except for that willing service, Jakie would have been quite overwhelmed by the many and peculiar duties of a roundup cook. He would have been perfectly helpess before the morning and noon packing of dishes and food, and the skilful haste necessary to unpack and prepare a meal for fifteen ravenous appetites within the time limit would have been utterly impossible. Jakie was a chef, trained to his profession in well-appointed kitchens and with assistance always at hand; which is a trade apart from cooking for a roundup crew.

Happy Jack, in the fulness of time, returned with the eggs. That is, he returned with six eggs and a quart or two of a yellowish mixture thickly powdered with shell. He took the pail to Jakie and he saw the seraphic smile fade from his face and an unpleasant glitter creep into his eyes.

"It is the omelet fich you furnish, yes? The six eggs, they will not make the pudding. The omelet--I do not perceive yet the desirableness of the omelet. And the juvenile hen--yes?"

"Aw, they wouldn't sell no chickens." Happy Jack's face had gone long and scarlet before the patent displeasure of the other. "And my horse was scared uh the bucket and pitched with me."

Jackie looked again into the pail, felt gingerly the yellow mess and discovered one more egg which retained some semblance of its original form. "The misfortune distresses me," he murmured. "It is that you return hastily, Mr. Happy, and procure other eggs fich you will place unbroken in my waiting hands, yes?"

Happy Jack mopped his forehead and glanced at the sun, burning hotly down upon the prairie. They had made a short move that day and it was still early. But the way to Nelson's and back had been hot and tumultuous and he was tired. For the first time since his abject surrender to the waxed smile, Happy Jack chafed a bit under the yoke of voluntary servitude. "Aw, can't yuh cook something that don't take so many eggs?" he asked in something like his old, argumentative tone.

The unpleasant glitter in the eyes of Jakie grew more pronounced; grew even snaky, in the opinion of Happy Jack. "It is that I am no more permitted the privilege of preparing the food for fich I have the judgment, yes?" His voice purred too much to be convincing. "It is that I am no more the chef to be obeyed by my servant?"

"Aw, gwan! I ain't anybody's servant that I ever heard of!" Happy Jack felt himself bewilderedly slipping from his loyalty. What had come over Jakie, to act like this? He walked away to where there was some shade and sat down sullenly. Jakie's servant, was he? Well! "The darned little greasy-faced runt," he mumbled rebelliously, and immediately felt the better for it.

Two cigarettes brought coolness and calm. Happy Jack wanted very much to lie there and take a nap, but his conscience stirred uneasily. The boys were making a long circle that day and would come in with the appetites--and the tempers--of wolves. It occurred to Happy Jack that their appetites were much keener than they had ever been before, and he sat there a little longer while he thought about it; for Happy Jack's mind was slow and tenacious, and he hated to leave a new idea until he had squeezed it dry of all mystery. He watched Jakie moving in desultory fashion about the tent--but most of the time Jakie stayed inside.

"I betche the boys ain't gitting enough old stand-by-yuh chuck," he decided at length. "Floatin' island and stuffed olives--for them that likes stuffed olives--and salad and all that junk _tastes_ good--but I betche the boys need a good feed uh beans!" Which certainly was brilliant of Happy Jack, even if it did take him a full hour to arrive at that conclusion. He got up immediately and started for the cook-tent.

"Say, Jakie," he began before he was inside, "ain't there time enough to boil a pot uh beans if I make yuh a good fire? I betche the boys would like a good feed--"

"A-a-hh!" Happy Jack insisted afterward that it sounded like the snarling of a wolf over a bone. "Is it that you come here to give the orders? Is it that you _insult_?" Followed a torrent of molten French, as it were. Followed also Jakie, with the eyes of a snake and the toothy grin of a wild animal and with a knife which Happy Jack had never seen before; a knife which caught the sunlight and glittered horridly.

Happy Jack backed out as if he had inadvertently stirred a nest of hornets. Jakie almost caught him before he took to his heels. Happy never waited to discover what the new cook was saying, or whether he was following or remaining at the tent. He headed straight for the protection of the horse-wrangler, who watched his cavvy not far away, and his face was the color of stale putty.

The horse-wrangler saw him coming and came loping up to meet him. "What's eating yuh, Happy?" he inquired inelegantly.

"Jakie--he's gone nutty! He come at me with a knife, and he'd uh killed me if I'd stayed!" Happy Jack pantingly recovered himself. "I didn't have no time ta git my gun," he added in a more natural tone, "or I'd uh settled him pretty blame quick. So I come out to borrow yourn. I betche _I'll_ have the next move."

The horse-wrangler grinned heartlessly. "I reckon he's about half shot," he said, sliding over in the saddle and getting out the inevitable tobacco sack and papers. "Old Pete Williams rode past while you were gone, loaded to the guards and with a bottle uh whisky in each saddle-pocket and two in his coat. He gave me a drink, and then he went on and stopped at camp. He was hung up there for quite a spell, I noticed. I didn't _see_ him pass any uh the vile liquor to little Jakie, but--" he twirled a blackened match stub in his fingers and then tossed it from him.

"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 down the car.

"Come out uh that!" Four voices made up the chorus, and Patsy opened his eyes reluctantly.

"Py cosh, I not cook chuck for you fellers ven I'm sick," he mumbled dazedly.

"Come out uh that, you damned Dutch belly-robber!" bawled Big Medicine joyously, and somewhere behind a curtain a feminine shriek was heard at the shocking sentence.

Four pairs of welcoming hands laid hold upon Patsy; four pairs of strong arms dragged him out of the berth and through the narrow aisle to the platform. The conductor, the head brakeman and the porter were chafing there, and they pulled while the others pushed. So Patsy was deposited upon the platform, grumbling and only half sober.

"Anyway, we've got him back," Weary remarked with much satisfaction the next day when they were once more started toward the range land. "When Irish blows in again, we'll be all right."

"By cripes, yuh just give me a sight uh that Irish once, and he'll _come_, if I have to rope and drag 'im!" Big Medicine took his own way of intimating that he held no grudge. "Did yuh hear what Patsy said, by cripes, when he was loading up the chuck-wagon at the store? He turned in all that oil and them olives and _anchovies_, yuh know, and he told Tom t' throw in about six cases uh blueberries. I was standin' right handy by, and he turns around and scowls at me and says: 'Py cosh, der vay dese fellers eats pie mit derselves, I have to fill oop der wagon mit pie fruit alreatty!' And then the old devil turns around with his back to me, but yuh can skin me for a coyote if I didn't ketch a grin on 'is face!"

They turned and looked back to where Patsy, seated high upon the mess-wagon, was cracking his long whip like pistol shots and swearing in Dutch at his four horses as he came bouncing along behind them.

"Well, there's worse fellers than old Patsy," Slim admitted ponderously. "I don't want no more Jakie in mine, by golly."

"I betche Jakie cashes in, with all that lemon in him," prophesied Happy Jack with relish. "Dirty little Dago--it'd serve him right. Patsy wouldn't uh acted like that in a thousand years."

They glanced once more behind them, as if they would make sure that the presence of Patsy was a reality. Then, with content in their hearts, they galloped blithely out of the lane and into the grassy hills.

THE END.

* * * * *

_WHAT THE CRITICS SAY OF_

CHIP OF THE FLYING U.

BY M. BOWER.

* * * * *

"'Chip' is all right. Better than 'The Virginian.'"

--_Brooklyn Eagle_.

"The name of B.M. Bower will stand for something readable in the estimation of every man, and most every woman, who reads this fine new story of Montana ranch and its dwellers."--_Publisher & Retailer_.

"Its qualities and merit can be summed up in the brief but sufficient statement that it is thoroughly delightful."

--_Albany Times-Union_.

"For strength of interest, vivid description, clever and convincing character, drawing and literary merit it is the surprise of the year."

--_Walden's Stationer and Printer_.

"It is an appealing story told in an active style which fairly sparkles in reproducing the atmosphere of the wild and woolly West. It is consistently forceful and contains a quantity of refreshing comedy."

--_Philadelphia Press_.

"Bound to stand among the famous novels of the year."

--_Baltimore American_.

"'The Virginian' has found many imitators, but few authors have come as near duplicating Owen Wister's magnetic hero as has B.M. Bower, 'Chip of the Flying U.'"--_Philadelphia Item_.

"B.M. Bower has portrayed but few characters, but these he has pictured with the strong and yet delicate stroke of a true master. The atmosphere of the West is perfect; one sees and feels the vibrant, vital life of the ranch activities all through the telling of the story."

--_Cincinnati Times-Star_.

"It brims over with humor showing the bright and laughing side of ranch life. It is a story which will delightfully entertain the reader."

--_Portland Journal_.

"The story contains strength of interest, vivid descriptions, clever and convincing character drawing and literary merits, and the author lays on the colors with a master's touch."--_Albany Evening Journal_.

12MO, CLOTH BOUND, COLOR ILLUSTRATIONS, $.25

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* * * * *

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY OF

THE RANGE DWELLERS.

BY B.M. BOWER.

"A clever and humorous story, delightfully clean and wholesome, and possessing enough of the dramatic and dangerous element to keep the imagination excited to the end."--_The Nashville American_.

"A bright, jolly, entertaining yarn without a dull page."--_The Chicago Inter-Ocean_.

"One of the most charming and appealing of all Western novels. There is action and vivacity at all times, and the reader's interest never sways for an instant. The story is admirably written and runs along smoothly at all times."--_Philadelphia Press_.

"Here are every day, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist, spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet courtship in the Far West which make easy reading. Mr. Bower knows his wild west intimately and writes of it entertainingly."--_Des Moines Register and Leader_.

"Told with a good deal of humor and a lot of unusual spirit. A very clever book--one that has more atmosphere than usual, and which can be picked up at any time to fill a long felt want for excitement." --_Philadelphia Inquirer_.

"A tale to set the blood tingling. It is a story of the West, with the scene laid on a Montana cattle ranch. A story well told and a story worth reading."--_St. Louis Republic_.

"Mr. Bower has portrayed but few characters, but these he has pictured with the strong and yet delicate stroke of a true master. The atmosphere of the West is perfect; one sees and feels the vibrant vital life of the ranch activities all through the telling of the story."--_Pittsburgh Dispatch_.

"Has many stirring situations and exciting incidents illustrative of existence in the open."--_Boston Budget-Beacon_.

"The book is vigorous, with the bracing open air of the Far West."--_Rochester Herald_.

_12mo, Cloth Bound_

_Beautiful Color Illustrations by Charles M. Russell, $1.25_

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* * * * *

RAW GOLD

BY BERTRAND W. SINCLAIR

* * * * *

"This is a stirring story of the Canadian Northwest and the Northwest Mounted Police. The unwritten history of this wonderful and intrepid body of men must be a long way from the dry-as-dust histories on the shelves. It is an open question if people do not get more real history in a clear, clean-cut tale of this kind, with its strong character portrayal and its vivid local coloring, than could be obtained in any other way."

--_St. Louis Times_.

"Action enough to thrill the dullest sort of reader."

--_Albany Times-Union_.

"The delineation of characters in this tale of the Northwest Mounted Police is splendidly portrayed. They are flesh-and-blood personalities. There is something of mystery, bits of sharp action, color, description, life. A well-told story."

--_Pittsburg Dispatch_.

"The story is sensational, but is full of animation. Scenes shift rapidly and the actors play the game of life fearlessly and like men. The love theme runs through it all and pleasantly."

--_Chicago Tribune_.

"It is strong, virile, captivating and well told."

--_Denver Republican_.

"A rattling good story. There is sentiment of the kind that fits with the open sky and life in the saddle, and the whole story moves with a swing and reality that are refreshing in the extreme."--_New York Times_.

"Wild, indeed, is the West pictured by Mr. Sinclair."

--_Boston Transcript_.

"The tale, rapid in action and clearly told, is one of the best written on the Canadian West."--_Louisville Courier-Journal_.

_12mo, Cloth bound, Illustrated, $1.50._

* * * * *

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* * * * *

WYOMING

_A STORY OF THE OUTDOOR WEST_

BY

WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE

_Author of "Ridgeway of Montana," "A Daughter of Raasay," Etc._

* * * * *

In this vivid story the author has captured the breezy charm of "Cattleland," and brings to us the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. It is the kind of book one reads at a sitting far into the night.

A young woman, fresh from the conventional East, drives her motor car into an absorbing adventure which is the first of a series of dramatic events that tread upon each other's heels and grow more intense and thrilling from page to page.

The gallant vagabond, Ned Bannister, who enthralls the heroine's fancy, against her will, is reputed to be a lawless desperado of the worst type. Yet the reader joins with the wholly delightful young heroine in yielding him full sympathy. How the mystery is solved to the satisfaction of all is one of the pleasures that must be reserved for a reading.

The characters each and all are drawn with masterly vigor and help forward the swift movement of the plot.

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* * * * *

WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA

BY WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE

* * * * *

"To-day I had it out with 'Ridgway.' I opened the book and I did not lay it down till I had raced eagerly through it. I find it a story with many elements of power in its treatment of plot and personality. The men are all well-marked types. The women are all possible and pleasant beings. The story gives dramatically the inner life of a mining camp. The atmosphere of wild nature and primeval human passion is well sustained. The exuberance of detail and suggestion, the easy drawing of character, the fine massing of effects, all show a strength and fire in the author which ought to give us a line of good books from his pen in the coming days."

--EDWIN MARKHAM, in _The New York American_.

"Whatever else the reader of this novel may say, he certainly will be forced to admit that it is highly interesting. Mr. Raine is not only skillful in devising incidents which compel unwearied attention; he also has the rarer and finer craftsmanship which enables him to create characters that have a high degree of personal charm."--_Boston Transcript_.

"A story engrossing all the way through."--_New York World_.

"It is a real pleasure to pick up a book like this one. To use an old phrase, the story is one which can hardly be put down."

--_Minneapolis Tribune_.

"The action starts with the first line, and there is no suspension until the last word is written. It is a story of thrilling situations, busy people and stirring times. Once started to read it there is no quitting the book."--_Denver Republican_.

"Full of action and written with remarkable vigor."

--_Charleston News and Courier_.

"Mr. Raine's experience as a newspaper man has stood him in good stead. He knows the corrupt workings of politicians, the venality of biased courts, the weakness of the human heart when tempted by gold. More, he knows the details by which all these are made manifest in unjust laws, unfair verdicts and treachery to one's best friends."

--_Denver Post_.

"The political contest, the love scenes, and the character drawing give this story of life in the mining country great strength and charm."--_Pittsburg Dispatch_.

"Western stories are always in demand, and of these William MacLeod Raine is the most popular and successful writer. This is an exceptionally entertaining book."--_Albany Times-Union_.

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* * * * *

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