BAD MAN LOUIS.

Auckland Star, Volume LIII, Issue 83, 7 April 1922, Page 13

BAD MAN LOUIS.

BY B. C. D'EASUM.

(COMPLETE STORT.)

& very amusing little story. "Bad Man Louis," according to his own account of himself, was a terrible person—a mankiller, a dead shot, an outlaw. Then, one day, a mere tenderfoot blew along— and something happened. "The tale is absolutely true." writes the author. Bad Man Louis lived in a big log c-abin in the Rockies, in that part of Montana which is now the Glacier National Park. In tho— days, twenty-five years ago, all that country was pretty wild. Grizzly bear, mountain lions, deer, mountain sheep, goats, and game of all descriptions were plentiful. Bluo grouse and other rame birds were abundant; I have seen little lakes so covered with big, fat mallard ducks that you could not see the water. And all the streams and lakes were swarming with trout of all sizes. It was quite easy to live on game _— fish. I know, because I put in two happy, irresponsible years in that wonderland. The only white men in that country were hunters and trappers and the men who worked on the Great Northern Bailrosd. These last lived in what were called section-houses, situated about ten miles distant from each other. In each of these houses lived a "section boss," with a crew of four or live men whose duty it was to keep the track in repair, watch bridges, attend to the water-tanks, and, in winter time look out for snowslides. Louis was a hunter, and a good one, too. He was a dead shot. He could throw a tin can in the air and put six holes through it from hia revolver. He was also in expert at tanning deer hides, and always wore a buckskin suit consisting of shirt aud trousers, most elaborately fringed, and made by himself. Moccasins, brightly beaded, decorated his feet. At that time we could buy very gorgeous moccasins from the Blackfeet Indians at prices ranging from fifty cents to two dollars a pair. Louis had a straggly, neutral-tinted beard and moustache. He let his hair _row long, and it fell in picturesque curls far down his shoulders. We used to say he did it up in curl papers at night. And very likely it was true, for Louis was intensely vain—vain of his shooting, vain of his Wild West costume, and vain of his record as a "bad man." As of this last, the only authority we had was his own statement. He used to show us five notches on his six-shooter and gloomily hint at deeds of outlawry and of how he was wanted by various sheriffs in various parts of the West. It has been my fortune to meet several real Western "bad men" since that time; »nd not one of them was in the least like Louis. For a time, however, he managed to "put it over" on the few innocent hunters and railroaders. Then Bob Donnington appeared on the scene. Donnington was a tenderfoot, an English tenderfoot of the first gride of English tenderfootedness. He was fresh—note the term "fresh"— from an English public school and a brief and inglorious term at an expensive j crammers in the West-end of "London. His exploits 'finally compelled his longsuffering people to" ship him to Western Canada with a modified blessing, an expensive outfit of clothes —principally riding kit —and a very, very small amount of money. At no time did those canny folks"ever send him enough money in a lump sum to enable him to take passage home. • Western Canada did not welcome him with open arms: Western Canada had Bob Donningtons to give away in bunches. So our hero—for he is the hero of this truthful little tale—drifted south across the line into the United States, j into Montana, in fact. Drifting was one ; of the things that Bob did best. i With a casual acquaintance whom he had met in his driftings. Bob came to the Bockies on an indefinite hunting-trip., The casual acquaintance became bored and pulled out, leaving Bob all alone in ■ his glory except for a big yellow mongrel dog answering to the name of "Tough." ■Bob was quite happy. He took possession of one of the log shacks near the railroad. There were several of these shacks which had been built when the construction work was being done on the road. The shack had a wooden bunk covered with pine boughs. On these he spread his blankets. He had a little sheet-iron stove on which he did his cooking. A spring of crystal-clear water bubbled out from the hill at the back of his cabin. Close by ran the foaming rapids of the north fork of the Flathead Biver, full of trout. The woods were alive with game of all kinds, both small and large. If he-wanted groceries or tobacco he could get them at the nearest sec-tion-house on the railroad by trading game or fish for them at the rate of a cent a pound. Yes; venison and trout were actually sold for a cent a pound to the railroaderg. And I have known a case where they went on strike because they were "fed up" with venison, mountain sheep, and trout. They howled for bacon and beans. It was on one of his trips to the sec-tion-house that Bob Donnington first met Bad Man Louis. Louis had come to the section-house to receive a package he had ordered from a Chicago mail-order house. Among other things, this mail-order house used to cater for young bloods who wanted to deck themselves out in what they fondly believed was Wild Western regalia, such as decorated "chaps" (cliaparejos— leather riding trousers, fancifully •domed), stamped leather saddles, and ultra-cowboy equipment. Incidentally I may say that the genuine cowboy seldom got his stuff from a mail-order" house. His saddle and other equipment were generally made to his order by a Western saddler in a real '"cow town." But the speciality of this particular mail-order house was its fancy sombreros —broad-brimmed, high-crowned, white or nutria-tinted hats, sometimes decorated with gold and silver braid, stars, and Christmas-tree ornaments of all kinds. Louis had sent for one of these artistic creations, and he was taking it out of it 3 cardboard box and carefully unwrapping the tissue-paper in which ib was shrouded when Donnington, in all his bloom as an English tenderfoot, appeared on the scene. Louis tenderly removed the last of the tissue-paper and proudly gazed on his hat. It was ""some" hat, a peach of a hat —widebrimmed as a Tibetan umbrella, high-crowned, with a heavyband of gold braid, and stuck alf over with gaudy glass-bejewelled butterflies. The railroaders had finished their evening meal and were sitting round the room in the section-house, smoking their pipes. They were a hardworking bunch, i jetsam and flotsam from all lands. Not much ambition or spirit of adventure in any of them; for the railroad work was Manual labour of the simplest kind, and the pay and prospects were poor. The ] Tailroaders had accepted Louis at bis own valuation, and had Acid him in ao—rate awe.

>>ot so Bob Donnington, who knew nothing about the "b«d man's" supposedly lurid past. Bob pushed his way to the front and took the hat out of the amazed Louis' hands. "Oh, I say, old ehajv" be said, "what the dickens do you call this thing'" Louis snatched the .hat from the sacrilegious hands of the tenderfoot, at the same time pouring forth a flood of winged words far from complimentary. Then he placed the gorgeous affair on top of his flowing curls, and posed in his fringed buckskins and mocassin*i, witli his right hand lightly resting on the handle of his Colt, glaring at the tenderfoot. "Gaudy, but not neat." commented that innocent youth. And he laughed: he laughed at Bad Man Louis! The railroaders were frozen stiff in anticipation of what would happen. Like the housebreaker in the poem who "habitually swore, but so surpassingly profane he never was before," so did Louis outdo himself on this of—sion, winding up with "Bah, I spit upon you!" And he suited the action to the word. Like a flash, Donnington seized a chair and emote Louis hard: smote him on top of his beautiful hat; smote him again and again, smashing the beautiful hat into hideous ruin and beat Louis to the floor, where he lay stretched on his back, with his moccasined toes pointed upwards. The chair with which this devastation had been wrought was badly demoralised; two of its four legs were broken off. It was still a handy weapon, however, and Donnington grasped it, eager to renew the fight. - But Bad "Man Louis knew what he had enough. Slowly he sat up and gazed at Donnington, at the wreck of the beautiful hat, at the chair in the mad tenderfoot's hands. The railroaders ducked for cover, expecting a gunplay. But Louis did not draw his five-notched •gun. He went out, merely kicking Tough, the dog, out of his way. All through the proceedings Tough had been jumping up and down and barking gleefully. Tough delighted in "rough-house" performances. The section men crowded round Bob and poured into his ears earnest warnings to get away from that part of the country as soon as possible. They told him that Louis was a bad man, an outlaw, a man-killer. They told Bob that Louis would surely "get" him. They added that Louis was a dead shot, and they begged Bob to board a freight train that would pass through that night, and keep on travelling. •But Donnington. being rather "fresh," as I have said, and feeling a little puffed up by his exploit, refused to travel. He announced that he was going back _o his cabin. On his way to his own place in the woods he had to pass Louis's big log shack. There was a light glimmering through the window, and as he saw it, Bob lifted up his voice in that old-time popular song—"Two lovely black eyes. Oh, what a surprise!" The surprise came later —and Bob got it. He was stretched on his bunk, placidly smoking, when Tough, who was lying at bis feet, suddenly stiffened and gave a low growl. Bob got to his feet, opened the door, and was immediately knocked ■Sat by Tough, who bounded outside growling and full of fight. The fact that Donnington was knocked down saved his life, for a stream of bullets came through the doorway, smashing down his stovepipe, shattering his lamp, and burying themselves in the logs. Meanwhile, Donnington lay on the floor, feeling that he was taking up altogether too much space. He was thinking that it was indeed a wild and woolly country. He groped round the floor'and found his rifle. The' magazine was full, and he emptied it into the darkness outside, #ring high to avoid hitting the faithful Tough, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, if his yelpings could"be believed. No more shots came from outside, and presently Tough returned and sat down, thumping the floor with his tail as he looked upon the wreckage of the cab>. But Donnington was "mad" clear through. He was mad in more than one sense of the word, for instead of going back to the section-ho—c and getting away on the freight train, he lighted a lantern, took his revolver, and started out for Louis's cabin to return the bad man's" evening call. I said before that Louis lived in a big cabin; it had been used as a dining-hall for the men on the construction work. When Bob arrived, Louis was standing at the farthest end from the door. He was trimming the wick of his home-made lamp, a piece of flannel in a tin can filled with deer grease. He might ju3t as well have used kerosene lamps, like other peo-. pie did, but Louis was always a stickler for the primitive—witness his buckskins and moccasins. I don't know what Bob wanted to do, or what he thought Louis would do. No one but a crazy tenderfoot would start with a lighted lantern to call upon a man who had just shot up a cabin. It was a clear case of looking for trouble, and it used to be a truism in the West that the man who wasSooking for trouble always found it. However, there is a special providence which looks after crazy people. Bob pushed open the door and walked into the gloom of the long room. He himself was more or less in the light_on account of the lantern he was carrying. Louis turned as the door opened and saw Bob parading in with his lantern and dog. The "bad man" grasped the situation and his pearl-handled revolver in a moment. Before Bob could get farther in his speech than—"Oh, I say—" Louis opened fire. He must have been "rattled," for. crack shot as he was, it was hardly possible for him to miss such an easy target as Donnington presented, less than forty feet away and lit up by his lantern. But miss he did. His first shot smashed the lantern, putting Donnington in darkness and leaving Louis in the dim light of his grease-lamp. His other shots went wild. In the meantime, Donnmgton, hardly knowing what he was doing, drew his own revolver and fired in the general direction of the "bad man." To Bob's extreme horror, he saw Louis crumple up and fall forward on his face. Without waiting for anything more, Donnington dashed out of the cabin and down to the section-house, where he hammered oh the door until he woke some of the railroaders. "Oh, Oh! . I've killed him! I ye killed him!"*he sobbed out. "Killed who?" asked the section boss. "Killed the fellow with the hat," cried the frantic youth. _ "Good for you!" was the callous reply of the boss. "Say, boys, the English tenderfoot says he has bumped off Louis! What do you think About that? How's that for high?" Apparently the ratfroaders thought it was all right. They crowded found Donnington and smote him on the back with hearty shouts of "Good for you, kid!" "I give myself up; I want to give myself ut>!" Donnington cried. "Bats, kid!" said the boss. "Tou hit the next freight and puJI out. There'H be a train in an hour. Yon climb her at the water-tank and ride her as far a- you can. We won't know where yon've |

gone. Do you want any money?" And the kindly "railroaders were for pressing money on the amazed Bob. He refused their offers of money, sayin; that he bad enough. In a daze he went back to his shot-up cabin, packed a few belongings in a blanket roll, and returned to the railroad track. Here he waited, miserable in the thought that he had killed a man, until the headlight of an engine* coming round a curve heralded the approach of the freight train. But Louis was not dead. Bob's random shot had only clipped off one of the "bad man's" flowing curls and given him a stunning scalp wound. He soon came to himself and began to take stock of the events of the evening. He was a sadly disorganised "bad man." Hia beautiful, costly, long-anti-cipated hat had been wrecked by a crazy tenderfoot. To add insult to injury,! the aforesaid crazy tenderfoot had. also! wrecked him, Louis, the "bad man,", I with a common wooden chair. Yes broken the tegs of it on his head. Didn't even lay him out with a gun—just a 1 chair! Then, when he, Louis, had gone round to the tenderfoot's camp to shoot i him full of ho—s, something which by all the rules of the code he, Louis, was ■bound to do—why, nothing happened 1 , except that he had shot up the cabin only to find that the tenderfoot—and j bis dog—were still very much alive. And the tenderfoot, was so much alive that he had blazed back at Louis. It was indeed a mystery. To put the finishing touch to the tragedy, the unmentionable tenderfoothad come to Louis' home for a return call. Then Louis had done the foolish stunt of shooting the tenderfoot's lantern and the tenderfoot had promptly plugged Louis with a neat, grazing shot just above his right ear. The shorn curl lay on the rough board table. Louis looked at it, and sadly shook his head. His head hurt. The whole thing was too much for 'him. Evidently the tenderfoot was "bad medicine." Louis felt himself hoodooed. Possibly he had been wrong in thinking himself a "bad man." The Rockies, he decided', were not big enough to hold two such terrors as himself and the English lunatic. He made up his mind to move out, so he 'packed up a few of his belongings and sneaked down to the railroad track and waited among tbe trees until the headlight of an engine coming round a curve heralded the approach of the freight train. The train stopped at the water-tank with a great grinding and screeching of brakes. Out from the woods on one side of the train came Louis with his bundle and his headache; out from the shelter of. the water-tank on the other side came Bob Donnington, his dog, his 'bundle, and his fear-stricken conscience. Each made for a freight car, each unconscious of the other's presence. And, of course, through the perversity of fate, each approached the same freight car, only from different sides. Louis slid back the door on his side and crawled in. Bob was a little slower, for he had to boost Tough in, and Tough was a pretty hefty dog. Louis saw bis fellow-passengers getting aboard. Evidently be thought that the relentless •tenderfoot was still pursuing him. Bob climbed in and the train began to move. Poor Louis sprang to his feet, gave a wild yell, and dived out of the car, leaving his bundle behind him! Donnington was equally amazed when a shaft of moonlight gleamed through the pine trees and -showed him the supposed "dead" man running blindly into the woods. The train rattled and banged along through the night. Somewhere in the woods a very worried "bad man" was sitting on-a fallen tree in the dark, nursing an aching head and wondering how]

it had all happened. At the same time. Bob Donnington was lying on the floor of a freight car, his head on Louis* bundle, a pipe in his mouth, and remorse gone from his mind. He had sized up ■the situation pretty correctly; evidently Louis was scared of him—of him, the English tenderfoot! And Tough sat on his haunches and applauded with his tail. It had been a most enjoyable evening for him.