The Second Western Megapack. Zane Grey

sweating profusely, but game. “I aims to make this here young lady my wife, if it warn’t for the toughest prospective father-in-law ever blighted young love’s sweet dream with a number twelve boot in the seat of the pants.”

      “To put it in words of one syllable so’s even you can understand, Breckinridge,” says Kit, “Harry wants to marry me, but pap is too derned mean and stubborn to let us. He don’t like the Braxtons account of one of ’em skun him in a hoss-swap thirty years ago.”

      “I don’t love ’em myself,” I grunted. “But go on.”

      “Well,” she says, “after pap had kicked Harry out of the house five or six times, and dusted his britches with birdshot on another occasion, we kind of got the idee that he was prejudiced agen Harry. So we has to take this here method of seein’ each other.”

      “Whyn’t you all run off and git married anyway?” I ast.

      Kit shivered. “We wouldn’t dare try it. Pap might wake up and catch us, and he’d shoot Harry. I taken a big chance sneakin’ out here today. Ma and the kids are all over visitin’ a few days with Aunt Ouachita, but pap wouldn’t let me go for fear I’d meet Harry over there. I snuck out here for a few minutes—pap thinks I’m gatherin’ greens for dinner—but if I don’t hustle back he’ll come lookin’ for me with a hickory gad.”

      “Aw, shucks,” I said. “You all got to use yore brains like I do. You leave it to me. I’ll git yore old man out of the way for the night, and give you a chance to skip.”

      “How’ll you do that?” Kit ast skeptically.

      “Never mind,” I told her, not having the slightest idee how I was going to do it. “I’ll ’tend to that. You git yore things ready, and you, Harry, you come along the road in a buckboard just about moonrise, and Kit’ll be waitin’ for you. You all can git hitched over to War Paint. Buckner won’t do nothin’ after yo’re hitched.”

      “Will you, shore enough?” says Harry, brightening up.

      “Shore I will,” I assured him. “Vamoose now, and git that buckboard.”

      * * * *

      He hustled off, and I said to Kit: “Git in the wagon and ride to the settlement with me. This time tomorrer you’ll be a happy married woman shore enough.”

      “I hope so,” she said sad-like. “But I’m bettin’ somethin’ will go wrong and pap’ll catch us, and I’ll eat my meals off the mantel-board for the next week.”

      “Trust me,” I assured her, as I helped her in the wagon.

      She didn’t seem much surprised when she looked down in the bed and seen Joshua all tied up and painted and snoring his head off. Humbolt folks expects me to do onusual things.

      “You needn’t look like you thought I was crazy,” I says irritably. “That critter is for Uncle Shadrach Polk.”

      “If Uncle Shadrach sees that thing,” says she, “he’ll think he’s seein’ worse’n snakes.”

      “That’s what I aim for him to think,” I says. “Who’s he stayin’ with?”

      “Us,” says she.

      “Hum!” I says. “That there complicates things a little. Whar-at does he sleep?”

      “Upstairs,” she says.

      “Well,” I says, “he won’t interfere with our elopement none. You git outa here and go on home, and don’t let yore pap suspect nothin’.”

      “I’d be likely to, wouldn’t I?” says she, and clumb down and pulled out.

      I’d stopped in a thicket at the aidge of the settlement, and I could see the roof of Cousin Buckner’s house from where I was. I could also hear Cousin Buckner bellering: “Kit! Kit! Whar air you? I know you ain’t in the garden. If I have to come huntin’ you, I ’low I’ll—”

      “Aw, keep yore britches on,” I heard Kit call. “I’m a-comin’!”

      I heard Cousin Buckner subside into grumblings and rumblings like a grizzly talking to hisself. I figgered he was out on the road which run past his house, but I couldn’t see him and neither he couldn’t see me, nor nobody could which might happen to be passing along the road. I onhitched the mules and tied ’em where they could graze and git water, and I h’isted Joshua outa the wagon, and taken the ropes offa his laigs and tied him to a tree, and fed him and the mules with some corn I’d brung from Cousin Bill Gordon’s. Then I went through the bresh till I come to Joel Garfield’s stillhouse, which was maybe half a mile from there, up the run. I didn’t meet nobody.

      Joel was by hisself in the stillhouse, for a wonder, but he was making up for lack of trade by his own personal attention to his stock.

      “Ain’t Uncle Shadrach Polk nowhere around?” I ast, and Joel lowered a jug of white corn long enough to answer me.

      “Naw,” he says, “he ain’t right now. He’s likely still sleepin’ off the souse he was on last night. He didn’t leave here till after midnight,” says Joel, with another pull at the jug, “and he was takin’ all sides of the road to onst. He’ll pull in about the middle of the afternoon and start in to fillin’ his hide so full he can just barely stagger back to Buckner Kirby’s house by midnight or past. I bet he has a fine old time navigatin’ them stairs Buckner’s got into his house. I’d be afeared to tackle ’em myself, even when I was sober. A pole ladder is all I want to git into a loft with, but Buckner always did have high-falutin’ idees. Lately he’s been argyin’ with Uncle Shadrach to cut down on his drinkin’—specially when he’s full hisself.”

      Speakin’ of Cousin Buckner,” I says, “has he been around for his regular dram yet?”

      “Not yet,” says Joel. “He’ll be in right after dinner, as usual.”

      “He wouldn’t if he knowed what I knowed,” I opined, because I’d thought up a way to git Cousin Buckner out of the way that night. “He’d be headin’ for Wolf Canyon fast as he could spraddle. I just met Harry Braxton with a pack-mule headin’ for there.”

      “You don’t mean somebody’s made a strike in Wolf Canyon?” says Joel, pricking up his ears.

      “You never heard nothin’ like it,” I assured him. “Alder Gulch warn’t nothin’ to this.”

      “Hum!” says Joel, absent-mindedly pouring hisself a quart-size tin cup full of corn juice.

      “I’m a Injun if it ain’t!” I says, and dranken me a dram and went back to lay in the bresh and watch the Kirby house. I was well pleased with myself, because I knowed what a wolf Cousin Buckner was after gold. If anything could draw him away from home and his daughter, it would be news of a big strike. I was willing to bet my six-shooters against a prickly pear that as soon as Joel told him the news, he’d light out for Wolf Canyon. More especially as he’d think Harry Braxton was going there, too, and no chance of him sneaking off with Kit whilst the old man was gone.

      * * * *

      After a while I seen Cousin Buckner leave the house and go down the road towards the stillhouse, and purty soon Uncle Shadrach emerged and headed the same way. Purty well satisfied with myself, I went back to where I left Cousin Bill’s wagon, and fried me five or six pounds of venison I’d brung along for provisions and et it, and drunk at the creek, and then laid down and slept for a few hours.

      It was right at sundown when I woke up. I went on foot through the bresh till I come out behind Buckner’s cow-pen and seen Kit milking. I ast her if anybody was in the house.

      “Nobody but me,” she said. “And I’m out here. I ain’t seen neither pap nor Uncle Shadrach since they left right after dinner. Can it be yore scheme is actually workin’ out?”

      “Certainly,” I says. “Uncle Shadrach’ll be swillin’ at Joel’s