CHAPTER II. JIMMIE FORTUNE
1639 Words
CHAPTER II.
JIMMIE FORTUNE
Fortune had the sort of good-natured face that reflects an easy-going disposition. He was about as handsome as Owen Clancy, which is the same as saying that he would never be hung for his good looks, but his face was attractive for all that. His nose was a “snub,” and his eyes were narrow, and crinkled all around where a perennial smile had puckered them and left its marks.
Handsome is as handsome does, always, and it was safe to say that James Montague Fortune, while a peculiar chap in some respects, possessed a cheerful soul and a nature most companionable.
“What am I going to do with you?” repeated Clancy, studying Fortune with humorous eyes. “That’s not my business, is it? This is a free country, and you’re your own boss.”
“Sure,” was the reply, “but I’m tired of bein’ my own boss. It’s too big a job and I ain’t able to swing it. I’m right smart of a feller, Clancy, and husky and able more’n I can tell, but I’ll be dad-binged if I’m much of a success. How’d you like to sign me on for my board and keep and, say, fifty plunks a month? Huh?”
Clancy threw back his red head and burst into a laugh.
“Where’s the joke?” asked Fortune.
“What use have I got for a chap like you?” Clancy returned. “Why, I’m looking for a job myself. That’s why I’m going to Phoenix, Fortune. And I’m walking to save stage fare from Mesa.”
“Didn’t know but you might be a Vandefeller, or a Rockybilt in disguise,” grinned Fortune. “I’ve worked for purty nigh everybody in southern Arizona, and I jest wanted to add you to my list of employers. I don’t seem able to hold a job long. Shortest time I was ever hired and fired was fifteen minutes, and the longest time was two days. Fortune! That’s a bully name, ain’t it? Never done me no good, though. If you can’t hire me, mebby you’d like me for a pard? I’ll be your compadre jest for my board and keep. How about it?”
Clancy shook his head.
“I’m going to have all I can do to corral my own board and keep, Jimmie,” he answered.
“H’m,” mused Fortune, rubbing his chin. “You’re the blamedest feller! While I was on that ledge, down there, you said somethin’ about punchin’ my head. Reckon you could get away with it?”
“I don’t know,” said the surprised Clancy. “If you’re as good as you look I’d probably have a handful.”
Fortune got his feet under him, stepped into the road, and put up his hands.
“Come on!” he called.
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t you tell what I mean jest by lookin’?” was the cheerful response. “Take holt o’ me and slam me down. Bet you can’t.”
“You want to fight?”
“One or t’other of us goes on his back in about two minutes.” Fortune began hopping around in his high-heeled boots. “Hit me in the eye!” he begged, sawing the air with his fists.
For a few moments Clancy was astounded. Fortune’s grin was wide and inviting—in fact, he was about the pleasantest slugger Clancy had ever seen.
“Cut out the foolishness,” said Owen. “What reason have I got to fight with you?”
“Shucks! You got to have a reason for every blame’ thing? Climb my neck—if you got the sand! Ain’t I beggin’ hard enough?”
Abruptly Clancy made up his mind to enter heartily into the spirit of the affair. So he sprang erect and sailed into Jimmie Fortune, whom he had just saved from being dashed to pieces at the bottom of the cliff.
Thump, thump, thump!
The sodden fall of fists was heard during a sharp give-and-take. Clancy, who had forgotten more of the “science” than Fortune ever knew, had all the best of it. Fortune clinched; and then Clancy, with a fine exemplification of the old reliable “double grapevine,” laid his antagonist on his back in the middle of the road.
Fortune got up with a joyous laugh, caressing a bruise on his chin with one hand, and, with the other, wiping the dust out of his eyes.
“I reckon you’ll do,” said he. “You’re as good as you look, Clancy, and then some. Let’s be pards, huh? We’ll travel together, and I’ll look after my own board and keep. I’m for Phoenix to find a livin’, same as you. Why not make a stab at the old burg in double harness? I could jest love a feller that slammed me down like that!”
Fortune was so delighted that his mirth was infectious. Clancy saw no occasion for all that abandon of happiness, and yet it was impossible not to join in his companion’s rollicking mirth.
“All right, Jimmie,” said he, “we’ll be pards, and we’ll go on together. Suppose we travel?”
“I allow we’ll have to travel if we ever reach Phoenix. Pasear it is, Reddy!”
Side by side they continued on along the treacherous trail.
“I got to uncork,” remarked Fortune, “and tell you more about myself. Some folks calls me a desert rat, but that there’s a libel. I’m jest a rollin’ stone, but I’d stop rollin’ blame’ quick if anybody ’u’d hire me and keep me hired.”
“Why don’t you stay hired?”
“Mainly because I do the wrong thing while ketchin’ onto a new line o’ work. An assayer gave me a chanst in Prescott, and set me to grindin’ at a muller board. I tipped over the table and busted a carboy o’ sulphuric acid, and got run out o’ the place. That’s where I lasted fifteen minutes. ’Nother time I took a throw at a general store in Tempe, and believe me, I was busy-izzy for one hull day. Store was crowded and I had to be in about six places to oncet. The boss reckoned he had a prize, from the way I flew around; but he changed his mind when he diskivered I’d left the spigot o’ the molasses bar’l open. The floor o’ the back room was ankle deep in sweet stuff, and the old man made a pass at me with his foot. I dodged the foot and he slipped and went down in the black strap. He rolled over and over, and when he chased me through the front door of the ‘Emporium’ he had gathered up purty nigh everythin’ in the store like a piece o’ fly paper. A bolt o’ calico, a couple o’ feather dusters, fifteen or twenty pounds o’ crackers—oh, I can’t begin to tell all the stuff that was stickin’ to him. The damage was right considerable, and I ain’t had the nerve to go back to Tempe since.”
Clancy enjoyed Fortune’s reminiscences. There was no doubt that the wanderer drew heavily on his imagination, but that merely made his recital the more interesting.
“It’s been a year since I tackled Phoenix,” went on Jimmie. “I worked that bunch of adobes up and down and across, but maybe some of ’em have kind of forgot me, and I’ll get another show. What field of industry are you aimin’ to hit, Brick Top?”
“Want to get a job in a garage,” said Owen.
The other looked at him with quickened interest.
“You bug on the motors?”
“Well, you might call it that,” laughed Owen.
“Never tried ’em myself. Looks like a promisin’ field. Wonder if we couldn’t get jobs in the same garage?”
“Maybe we could; and then, again, maybe there isn’t a garage in Phoenix that has a place for us. I have a note for a thousand dollars that I want to collect from the proprietor of a garage in—— What’s the matter with you?” demanded Clancy, breaking off suddenly.
Fortune had come to a dead stop in the trail. He stared at his new “pard,” then craned his head forward and put a hand behind his ear.
“Otra vez!” he murmured. “Come again with that, Red. A note for—how much?”
“Thousand dollars.”
“Gee-wollops! I didn’t know there was that much dinero in the world. And here you tune up and allow you couldn’t hire me at fifty plunks a month!”
“The note doesn’t belong to me,” Clancy explained, “but to my father. The folks need the money—and I may have a hard time collecting it. You say you have been in Phoenix, Jimmie?”
“I was there good and plenty for six months.”
“Ever hear of a man named Rockwell—Silas Rockwell?”
Jimmie gave a startled jump. “Wow!” he yelled.
“Know Rockwell?” continued Clancy.
“He’s my Uncle Si, but he never had no use for any the rest of the fambly. Sort of an even thing, Red, ’cause none of the rest of the fambly ever had much use for him. He runs the Red Star Garage, on First Avenue, and he was never knowed to pay a cent if he could dodge or run away. If he owes your folks money, then you better forget it. You can get blood out of a turnip quicker’n you can get cold cash out of Uncle Si. My people knows him by the lovin’ name of ‘Old Rocks,’ and——”
Fortune’s voice trailed off into silence. He and Clancy were standing on the slope of the mountain, near the place where the trail left the uplift and straightened out across the flat desert. Fortune’s eyes were fixed on something at the foot of the descent—something which seemed to hold him spellbound.
Clancy, his wonder aroused by his companion’s behavior, dropped his gaze to the foot of the slope. What he saw there surprised him.
The big automobile, which had so recklessly swept past him and Fortune on the heights, was at a halt at the edge of the brown, dusty plain. A smaller car, facing the other way, was drawn up beside the six-cylinder machine.
Two men had got out of the small car. One of them was stoutly built, well dressed, and of middle age. This man’s panama hat was pushed back on his head and he seemed to be violently agitated. The driver of the large machine was on the ground, and to him the stout gentleman was addressing himself. The other man hovered around in the background.
This third member of the party at the foot of the slope was tall and thin, and wore a linen duster, a cap, and had a pair of goggles pushed up on his forehead.
“Great jumpin’ tarantulas!” gasped Fortune. “Talk of the Old Nick and you hear him a-snorin’. Red, that man in the duster, down there, is Uncle Si! Wouldn’t this rattle your spurs?”
“Who’s the other man, Jimmie?” queried Owen.
“I’m by; but the feller that other chap’s talkin’ to is the one that drove me over the cliff! Whoop-ya! Right here’s where I get even. Watch my smoke!”
With that, Fortune rushed down the sloping trail at top speed. Clancy followed him swiftly, calling out as he went:
“Don’t do anything reckless, Jimmie! Look out, or you’ll get yourself into trouble.”
“Somebody’s goin’ to get into trouble, all right,” Fortune flung back, over his shoulder, and raced on.
- Writer
