"Bring Me His Ears"
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Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/bringmehisearsOOmulfrich "BRING ME fflS EARS" Tom pushed on ahead to reconnoiter the Upper Spring [Page 262^ "Bring Me His Ears" By CLARENCE E. MULFORD Author of The Bar-20 Three; Johnny Nelson; Hopalong Cassidy; Buck Peters, Ranchman; The Man from Bar-20; '' Tex; " Etc. Frontispiece by J. Allen St. John CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1922 Copyright A. C. McClurg & Co. 1922 Published October, 1922 Copyrighted in Great Britain PriiUed in the United States of America M. A. DONOHUE ft CO., PRINTERS AND BINDERS. CHICAGO CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I Hawkens' Gun Store i II Aboard the Missouri Belle 13 III Armijo's Strong Arm 19 IV Tom Changes His Plans 38 V The Insult 65 VI Indians and Gamblers yy VII The Wrecking of the Missouri Belle . 95 VIII The New Six-gun 108 IX The Caravan 128 X En Route 151 XI Indian Country 164 XII Pawnees 190 XIII Hurrah for Texas 196 XIV The Valley of the Cimarron 220 XV Texan Scouts 239 XVI The Passing of Pedro 256 XVII "'Spress from Bent's" 271 XVIII Santa Fe 285 XIX The Rendezvous 299 XX Tom Reneges 310 XXI The Kidnapping 323 XXII ''Los Tejanosf' 331 iVil03i20 ''Bring Me His Ears" CHAPTER I HAWKENS' GUN STORE THE tall, lanky Missourian leaning against the cor- ner of a ramshackle saloon on Locust Street, St. Louis, Missouri — the St. Louis of the early forties — turned his whiskey-marked face toward his companion, a short and slender Mexican trader, sullenly listening to the latter's torrent of words, which was accompanied by many and excitable gesticulations. The Missourian shook his head in reply to the accusations of his com- panion. " But he was on thee boat weeth us ! " exclaimed the other. "An' you lose heem — lak theese!" the sharp snap of his fingers denoted magic. " Thar ain't no use o* gittin' riled," replied Schoolcraft. " How in tarnation kin a man keep th' trail o' a slippery critter like him in these yere crowds? I'll git sight o' him, right yere." " That ees w'at you say," rejoined the Mexican, shrug- ging his shoulders. "But w'at weel / say to le Gober^ nadorf Theese hombre Tomaz Boyd — he know vera many t'eengs — too vera many t'eengs — an' he ensult le Gobernador. Madre de Dios — sooch ensult!" He " BRING. ME HIS EARS shiypre^'^i.Ul^.thoy^ht "Wen I get thee message, I tr-remb'le!' It say *Br-ring heem to me — or breeng me ! his ears ' I am tol' to go to Sefior Schooler-raft at Een- dependence — he ees thee man. I go; an' then you lose heem ! Bah ! You do not know theese Manuel Armijo, ! le Gobernador de Santa Fe, my fren' — I tr-remble "You need a good swig, that's what you need,'* growled Schoolcraft. " An' if ye warn't a chuckle-head," he said with a flash of anger, " we wouldn't 'a' come yere at all ; I told ye he's got th' prairie fever an' shore would come back to Independence, whar I got friends; but no ! — we had ter foiler him " He spat emphatically. " Thar warn't no sense to it, nohow!" The other waved his arms. " But w'y we stan' here, " lak theese ? W'y you do no'teeng? "Now you look a-here, Pedro," growled the Mis- sourian, his sullen gaze passing up and down the slender Mexican. " Ye don't want ter use no spurs on this critter. I ain't no greaser! If ye'll hold them arms still fer a minute I'll tell ye somethin'. Thar's three ways o' gittin' a deer: one is trailin' — which we've found ain't no good; another is layin' low near a runway — which is yer job; th' third is watchin' th' salt lick — which is my job. You go down ter th' levee, git cached among them piles o' freight an' keep a lookout on th' landin' stage o' th' Belle, I'll stick right yere on this corner an' watch th' lick, which is Hawkens' gun store. He lost his pistol overboard, comin' down th' river, didn't he? An' th' Belle ain't sailin' till arter ten o'clock, is she ? One o' us is bound ter git sight o' him, fer he'll shore go back by th' river; an' if thar's any place in this town whar a plains- man'll go, it's that gun store, down th' street. You do "" HAWKENS' GUN STORE what I say, or you an' Armijo kin go plumb ter hell! An' don't ye wave yer fists under my nose no more, Pedro ; I might misunderstand ye." The Mexican's face brightened. " Eet ees good, vera good, Seiior Schoolcraft. Hah! You have thee br-rains, : my fren'. Armijo, he say ' Pedro, get heem to Santa Fe, if you can. If you can't, then keel heem, an' breeng me hees ears.' Bueno! I go, senor. I go pronto. Buena dial'' " Then git," growled Schoolcraft. " Thar's that long- faced clerk o' Hawkens' openin' th' shop. Now remem- ber: this side o' th' junction o' th' Oregon trail I'm only ter watch him. If he goes southwest from th' junction, yer job begins; if he heads up fer th' Platte, my job starts. I ain't got no love fer him, but I'm hopin' he heads fer Oregon an' gets killed quick ! I hate ter thinlc o' a white man in Armijo's paws. An' if he hangs 'round th' set- tlements, we toss up fer th' job. If that's right, va- moose/' "Eet ees r-right to thee vera letter," whispered the Mexican, rubbing his hands. " Eef only I can get heem to Santa Fe — ah, my fren' ! "Yer wuss nor a weasel," grunted the Missourian, slight prickles playing up and down his spine. " Better git down to them freight piles ! Schoolcraft watched his scurrying friend until he slipped around a corner and was lost to sight; then he turned and looked up the street at the gun shop of Jake and Samuel Hawken, whose weapons were renowned all over that far-stretching western wilderness. Shrugging his shoulders, he glanced in disgust at the heavy, patented repeating rifle in his hand and, letting his personal affairs BRING ME HIS EARS take precedence over those of the distant Mexican tyrant, he swung down the street, crossed it, and entered the famous gun shop. He risked nothing by the move, for the store was the Mecca of frontiersmen, and a trip to St. Louis was hardly complete without a visit to the shop. The Hawkens were established, so much so that they were to be singled out by one of the famous Colt family with a partnership proposition. The fame of their rifles had rolled westward to the Rockies and beyond. They were to be found across the Canadian and Mexican boundaries and wherever hunters and trappers congre- gated, who scorned the Northwest fusil as fit only for trading purposes, laughed in their sleeves at the prepos- terous length and general inefficiency of the Hudson Bay muskets, and contentedly patted the stocks of their Haw- kens'. There is a tradition that the length of the Hudson Bay muskets, which often rose over the head of a tall man while the butt rested on the ground, was due to the fact that the ignorant Indians could obtain a white man's gun only by stacking up beaver skins until the pile was as high as the musket. Even worse than the flintlock trade guns were the escopetas of the south, matchlocks of prodigious bore and no accuracy or power, which were used by many of the Mexicans. That swarthy-skinned race which suffered under the tyranny of Armijo seemed to believe that anything which used powder was a weapon. The rank and file of the Mexicans were coura- geous and usually fought bravely until deserted by their officers, or until they were fully convinced that the mis- cellaneous junk with which they were armed was worse than useless. It can hardly be expected that men shoot- ing pebbles, nails, and what-not out of nearly useless HAWKENS' GUN STORE blunderbusses; or using bows, arrows, and lances will stand up very long against straight-shooting troops armed with the best rifles ; add to this the great difference in morale, and the ever-present distrust of the officers, and a fair and honest understanding may be arrived at Hawkens' clerk took down one of the great rifles to go over it with an oiled rag, which was another example of painting the lily. The weapon was stocked to the muzzle and shot a bullet weighing thirty-two to the pound, each thus being an honest half-oimce of lead. It was brass mounted and had a poorly done engraving of a buffalo on the trap in its stock. He turned to replace it and take down another when the sound of the opening door made him pause and face the incoming customer. The newcomer was neither hunter nor trapper, gam- bler nor merchant, to judge from his nondescript and mixed attire. His left hand had an ugly welt running across the base of the palm and it had not been healed long enough to have lost its distinctive color. In his right hand he carried a rifle which was new to that part of the country, and he slid it onto the counter.