Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

22 : THE ARGOSY. on either side that you can git to think that way.” “Well, right here is the place to make a beginning.” Zach Peters was less sanguine than I hoped. He puffed out a volume of smoke and solemnly swayed his head. “ Stranger, it won’t work; there’s too many in the bus’ness; the leaders are spending too much money, and it's a blamed sight easier arning wages by layin’ behind a blind all day, smoking your pipe and waiting for one of the other fellers to come in range, than it is hoeing the ground and getting out lumber. “’Spose me and Tom should agree to a truce: that_means we shall stand still and let the others shoot us down in our tracks.” “It has that ’ere look,” assented Tom. “No one denies your right to defend yourselves, but you needn’t go hunting for victims; you can let others know what you have done, and so far at least as you two are concerned, you can be friends. Am I right?” Tom and Zach, still puffing their pipes, looked at each other with the oddest expression conceivable. For a full minute neither uttered a word, and then it was Auckland who spoke in so low a tone that but for the breathless silence of the room, his words would have been inaudible. “What do you say, Zach? ” ““T’m agreeable.” “ Jake,” said I, delighted at the way things were going, “ you must shake hands, too.” | The face of the youth was a study. He was not smoking, and his naturally red countenance was more crimson than ever. He compressed his lips, and his eyes flashed. “Zach Peters killed our horse, and I don’t shake hands with him.” “Yes, you will!” said his father, sternly; “ come over here and shake hands!” The son rose sullenly, and had begun slouching across the room, when his mother leaped from her chair like a tigress. Her face was ablaze with pas- sion, her eyes snapped and she trem- bled from head to foot. Dropping the garment she had been sewing to the floor, she leaned toward her husband, and shaking her long, bony finger, said in words that fairly scorched : “Thomas Auckland, listen to me! If you’re such a sneak and coward as to make up with the likes of Zach Pet- ers, you can do itt, but no son of mine ever shall! Jake, if you take the hand of that villain, PM kill you! ”’ The husband may have been, as a rule, master of his household, but he certainly was not when his wife was “roused.” All were cowed and awed before that awful embodiment of wrath, and none more so than myself. Fixing her flaming gaze upon the speechless youth, she stamped her foot and shook her lean forefinger. ‘Set down, Jacob Auckland! Set down!” He looked questioningly at his father, who grimly nodded. “Reckon you’d better, Jake!” She was too flurried to resume her work, and again faced her husband, who was thoroughly scared by her words and manner. “You hain’ shook hands with him yit, Thomas Auckland? ” “ Not yit, Becky! ” “Wal, do it now, tf you dare, Thomas Auckland! ” The husband turned toward his neighbor. Zach took his corncob from between his lips and said: “TIT reckon, Tom, we’d better cail it off.” “ Jes’ so; I’m agreeable.” I count myself sensible that I made no attempt up to this point to interfere, but rarely have I been more disgusted and angered. ‘Zach Peters.” I now said: “ since you are my prisoner, I order you to pick up your Winchester and go home.” ecomicooolKs eco