The Project Gutenberg eBook of The hand of Providence
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The hand of Providence
Author: W. C. Tuttle
Release date: May 23, 2026 [eBook #78735]
Language: English
Original publication: New York, NY: The Ridgway Company, 1918
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78735
Credits: Prepared by volunteers at BookCove (bookcove.net)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE ***
THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE
W. C. Tuttle
Author of “Tied Up for Tombstone,”
“The Domestication of Dobie,” etc.
“Mebby this ol’ place was excitin’ once upon a time, but since I’ve
lived here she’s been jist about as wild and woolly and excitin’ as
watchin’ a sheep-herder play solitaire,” opines Ricky Henderson to
the bunch of us on the steps of Buck Masterson’s saloon.
“Why,” he continues, when we don’t argue none, “even the dog-gone
broncs have done forgot how to pitch in this man’s land. This year of
1895 shore is dull and drab to ol’ man Henderson’s li’l boy.”
“Too true, Ricky,” agrees Magpie Simpkins, agreein’ with some one fer
once in his life. “Why, them broncs”--indicatin’ six buzzard heads from
the Seven A and the Triangle outfits, which are noddin’ their heads at
the rack--“are too dog-goned lazy to even go home if they was cut loose.
Nothin’ short of the crack of doom would disturb their slumbers, and I
knowed the time when we used to make bets as to whether our broncs
wouldn’t tear loose and set us on foot when we hits town. It shore ain’t
like the good ol’ days when---- What in ---- is comin’?”
We all stands up on our hind legs, and also does the broncs at the rack.
Whatever it was we shore don’t de-cipher the sound. We’re kumtucks to
every degree of noise in that locality from the buzz of a sidewinder to
the crack of a thunderbolt, but this sound was somethin’ ab-solutely
new.
It is poppin’ and roarin’ down at the end of the street and comin’
closer every pop. “Cobalt” Williams jumps up on a chair, and climbs
the support of the porch.
“Here she comes!” he yells. “Nothin’ pushin’ and nothin’ pullin’! My
Gawd!”
Jist then it emerges from a cloud of alkali dust and ambles straight
fer our place of refuge. Them broncs gits back their childhood days
in a second, and, bein’ as some of them are tied with half-inch ropes
there ain’t nothin’ to be done except to uproot that rack, the same
of which they does with great cheer and dispatch.
Immediately and soon them four rope-tied broncs proceeds to sweep the
streets of our city with that twenty-foot rack. They begins operations
by takin’ up the town pump, and then on second thought they annexes
Pete Gonyer’s cart, which he has jist painted and left in the sun to
dry. Pete put in a lot of work remodelin’ that ol’ breakin’ cart, and
he won’t sing joyfully when he finds it has been distributed all over
the range.
Ol’ Sam Holt is comin’ up the road in his wagon, and he sees the cyclone
jist in time. It’s sweepin’ in his direction, and the ol’ man, after
takin’ one good look, swings his team around, and the last we sees of
the procession the ol’ man is still in the lead. When the dust settles
we inspects the cause of the disturbance. It’s standin’ in the middle of
the street, shakin’ like it had the ager, and we recognizes the occupant
as one “Scenery” Sims, of Curlew.
Scenery gits his name from the fact that he builds his house on the
top of a hill so he can see the country. He’s a li’l pop-eyed hombre,
without no visible shoulders, and his tracks in the dust can’t be told
from the spoor of a Piegan. Also he’s lousy with money which he made
runnin’ sheep in the Johnson Hole.
“Jist about what kind of a ---- thing is that?” snorts Wick Smith.
Scenery looks us over with a superior air, and lights a seegar.
“Don’t try to keep it a secret,” advises Cobalt. “We kin all see it,
Scenery, so yuh might as well come across like a man.”
“Say, yuh bunch of ignorant grangers,” sez Scenery, “do yuh mean to say
yuh don’t know what this is?”
“Shore, we know what it is,” replies Weinie Lopp, “but we wants to hear
it from yore own lips.”
“This,” sez Scenery, pattin’ the polished side of the contraption, “is a
hossless wagon.”
“Well,” sez Slim Hawkins, pickin’ up the remains of his plaited leather
bridle out of the dust, “you shore comes to the right place. This is a
hossless city right now.”
Scenery looks off down the street in the direction taken by the hosses,
and then dismounts.
“Hosses have got to git used to these things,” he states. “Down to
Curlew they’re gittin’ a heap used to ’em. The first day there is eight
runaways, the next there’s only five and yesterday there is only three.
It don’t take ’em long to ----”
“How many teams was in Curlew yesterday?” interrupts Buck.
“Three,” sez Scenery. “Let’s all have a li’l snifter.”
“What makes the blasted thing go?” asks Cobalt. “She ain’t got no b’iler
ner smokestack ner nothin’.”
“Gasoline,” sez Scenery. “I ain’t noways familiar with the internal
workin’s, but I knows that gasoline is the fodder. She cost me four
thousand, but by cripes, she’s worth it.”
“I’d reckon that yuh guides it with that iron walkin’ stick,” sez Slim.
“Uh-huh,” agrees Scenery, with his face full of hooch. “It ain’t no
trick to run the blamed thing. All yuh has to do is to wind the handle
on the side, and she begins to splutter. Then yuh forks the seat, pulls
north on that leever, steps on the pedal on the bottom and ----”
“And what?” asks Buck.
“Pray,” sez Scenery. “Let’s have another li’l snifter.”
“Why the prayer?” asks Cobalt. “I don’t see no cause for religion.”
“Shore yuh don’t, Cobalt,” replies Scenery, wipin’ the back of his
hand across his mouth. “You ain’t used to nothin’ more dangerous than
an ordinary outlaw bronc, which is a crawlin’, milk-eatin’ specimen of
locomotion alongside this juggernaut.
“’Cause why? ’Cause a bronc has got eyes, and don’t ordinarily butt
his head agin an immovable object, nor git the idea that he’s a
tree-infestin’ animule and try to re-pose serenely on the top of a
tree. This thing don’t care a ---- where it goes. Sabe?”
“Well,” sez Slim, “all I can say is that yo’re goin’ to find yoreself
badly disliked in this country, Scenery. I’m commencin’ to feel a
certain degree of animosity agin yuh already. That headstall and reins
cost me twelve simoleons in Miles City this Spring, and I’m willin’ to
bet that my bronc is plumb ruined by this time from trailin’ that
rack.”
“Sorrow ain’t payable at no bank, so I won’t say I’m sorry, Slim, but I
will say----”
Comes the rattle of a wagon out in the street and we hears ol’ Sam Holt
yell:
“Whoa! Hey, Buck! Bring me a drink!”
“Come in and git it!” replies Buck. “Yuh ain’t paralyzed, are yuh?”
“Hurry up!” yells Sam. “Dog-gone yuh, Buck, hurry up! I got a half-mile
lead on that bunch of destruction, and if yuh don’t hurry I’ll have to
pull out. Here they---- Hooray! Hooray! Never mind it now, Buck. They’ve
got crossways of Judge Steele’s hay-rack and they can’t move a peg.
“What started ’em, Buck?” asks Sam, when he comes inside. “I never
knowed that them Seven A and Triangle cayuses had that much life. They
done chased me fer three miles.”
“Hossless wagon,” sez Buck. “Scenery comes to our town in this hossless
vehicle, and scares delirious delight out of every bronc in the place.
Didn’t yuh see it outside?”
“So that was a hossless wagon, eh? I shore seed it outside, but I opines
that it’s somebody’s buggy with the pole broke out. I’ve heerd tell of
them things but I ain’t noways kumtucks to their peculiarities, Buck.
“I’m shore glad that it’s Scenery Sims what first introduces said
runaway promoter to our vicinity, ’cause he won’t be missed like a
regular man would. Not havin’ no wife nor children he won’t have no
one to mourn his untimely de-mise, and nobody will have pangs of
re-morse fer smokin’ up his carcass with a gun.”
“Havin’ voted for President Garfield in 1881, I don’t consider myself an
infant in swaddlin’ clothes,” opines Scenery, loosenin’ the top button
of his pants, so his six-gun will hang looser.
“I’ve et rattlesnake soup and picked my teeth with a bayonet, and
jist because I ain’t got no wife nor kids to mourn, it don’t give me
no reason fer voluntarily passin’ on to the bourn from which no
pilgrim ever returneth back. I hereby states, without malice nor
deliberate intention of hurtin’ other people’s feelin’s, that me and
my four thousand dollar bronc-boycotter goes where and when we
danged pleases. Mebby she goes where I don’t want to go, and mebby
she causes me to fork a cloud and finger music out of a harp, but
regardless of all that, I opines that this is a free country, Sam
Holt. Do I speak clear?”
“Yuh shore does, Scenery,” agrees Sam. “If I had as many scoops of
hooch under my belt as you have I could make a fittin’ reply to yore
oration, but I’m like you--no speaker when I’m sober. I can say this
much, though, Scenery: I don’t like yuh; I don’t like yore hossless
cart and I don’t like yore platform.”
Sam turns to Buck, who is considered the best rifle shot in the country,
and sez:
“Buck, if a machine about the size of Scenery’s was five hundred yards
away and goin’ about twenty mile per hour, how far ahead of it would yuh
hold with a 45-70 to hit it dead center?”
“Well,” sez Buck, settin’ out the glasses ag’in, and squintin’ at the
bar-bottle, “if I owned a hoss I wouldn’t stand so far away. Yuh might
shoot low and hit the machine.”
“All of which,” snorts Scenery, “proves that this here village is
backward. Yore satisfied to loaf along on a hoss or in a rattlin’
buckboard, but as fer me I ----”
“Yuh sorter spurns the earth, as it were,” finishes Weinie. “All I hope
is that in case that gas-grazin’ animule of yorn decides to mingle with
a tree I’ll have a front seat at the show. I’d enjoy that--me.”
“I’m goin’,” states Scenery, startin’ fer the door, “but in spite of
the fact that my vehicle ain’t appreciated by you snake hunters I’m
comin’ back some day.”
* * * * *
He winds on the crank until he jist about busts his gizzard before she
starts whizzin’, and then he mounts. He slams the leever ahead, digs his
heels into the dashboard, and that shiny corn-husker gives a couple of
jerks, and off she goes toward Curlew, _rickety-rack, rickety-rack_.
“That,” opines Magpie, after Scenery disappears in the dust, “is
a ---- of a bunch of liabilities fer a man to ride on. Mebby it’s
all right, boys, but she looks to me--sufferin’ coyotes! Look what’s
comin’!”
It shore was worth a second glance. Out of the cloud of dust, left by
the departin’ Scenery Sims, comes the remnant of a vanishin’ race. Not
mounted on prancin’ steeds and bedecked with beads, feathers and
riotous blankets and stained with war-paint. Not wavin’ scalpin’-knife
and tommyhawk and honin’ fer ha’r. Not any!
This is ol’ Chief Plenty Black Bears and his fambly, consistin’ of a
moon-faced klooch, eight papooses and five dogs, and the whole mess
is ridin’ high and handsome in a--hearse! The chief opines to be the
leader of the copper-skinned Four Hundred of Roarin’ Creek, and when
he goes visitin’ he shore goes plumb stylish. He buys the hearse from
an undertaker over in Helena, and the corpse-rustler puts in a high
hat with a black plume fer good measure. The chief wears the hat when
he drives.
I would say that them broncs were goin’ some place. Up the street they
comes with their bellies scrapin’ the dust, and that ol’ death equipage
is swayin’ and bouncin’ some scandalous. The chief has got that plug hat
pulled down over his face so the brim rests on the bridge of his broken
nose, and he’s ra’red up there sawin’ on his lines, and every time the
broncs hit the dirt yuh can hear him yellin’:
“Hoh! Hoh! Hoh!”
He’s hittin’ a dead center on the street and everythin’ is goin’ fine
until he gits in front of the saloon. I reckon his lines were some
patched up, and even good leather won’t stand fer too much pullin’.
Anyway one of the lines snapped, and, bein’ as the ol’ war-whoop is
overbalanced, he jist natcherally turns a back flip-flop, drops
gracefully off the rear of the hearse and stands on his hat in the
road.
I don’t reckon it was through any sense of loyalty or desire to remain
with their lord and master, but the rest of the fambly descends one by
one, via the li’l door at the rear. Each one spills out, bounces a
couple of times, gits up, looks back, and then goes over and sets down
on Sam Holt’s porch. The squaw, bein’ the last one out, has to walk
back about a quarter of a mile, while the funerial dray fades out of
sight over a ridge.
Nobody thought to cut that hat off the chief’s head--we pulls it off,
and the pullin’ didn’t improve the ol’ boy’s looks any. He fingers his
face fer a while, and then looks off in the direction from whence he
comes.
“What was yore hurry, Chief?” laughs Buck.
He looks at Buck fer a minute and then points off down the road.
“Seeum diaub!” he yelps. “_Hyas peshack!_”
And then he waddles over to Holt’s porch, where the squaw is busy takin’
the census.
“Well,” sez Magpie, “I’d say he was right when he said that he had
seen the devil, and that it was very bad. Don’t anybody tell him what
it really was, ’cause he’d jist about massacree Scenery. Sentiment is
a queer thing, boys. If the chief assassinated ol’ Scenery we’d jist
about have to hang the Injun on general principles ’cause he’s an
Injun. If a white man killed Scenery we’d give a dance. I kinda like
the ol’ war-whoop, so let’s let him think that it was the devil.”
It’s about three hours since Scenery left when we hears voices raised
in anger, and we stops the deal long enough to recognize the wau-wau
of Pete Gonyer and Andy Johnson, and they’re speakin’ like men with a
grievance on their chests.
“This shore is one fine town, Andy,” snorts Pete. “By the horns on the
moon, I leaves a perfectly good li’l red cart in front of my shop. It
was jist an inoffensive li’l ol’ cart, Andy, and somebody comes along
and scatters it fer miles!”
“Dang yore ol’ cart!” wails Andy. “I got blisters on my heels as big
as a dollar and six-bits. That’s the first time that roan hoss ever
piled me, and I ain’t cheerin’ none. Piled slick and clean, six miles
from home and mother!”
“Yuh can’t blame the hoss, Andy.”
“You said somethin’, Pete. If that hoss had been ridin’ me I’d have
shore done some pitchin’ myself. I’d admire to know what it was.”
“Looked like a smoke-spittin’ whangobbler to me, Andy. Six miles in
tight boots! Aw ----!”
We gits up and walks out on the porch. There sits Pete and Andy and
they’re shore a tired-lookin’ pair of pilgrims. Pete’s got his boots
off, but Andy’s feet are swelled up so tight he can’t git his boots
off, so he’s cheerfully cuttin’ ’em off with his knife.
“Been takin’ a li’l stroll?” asks Weinie Lopp.
Andy scowls at Weinie, cuts the last boot off, and tries to wiggle his
toes:
“Go ahead and tell ’em what happened, Pete,” sez he. “I’d do it but
they’d say I was a liar.”
“Well,” says Pete, borrowin’ my tobacco and papers, “I don’t care a
tinker’s dang what they say to me. I can’t believe it myself but I
shore know it came along.”
“Meanin’ which?” grins Magpie.
“We met,” sez Pete, inhalin’ deep, “Andy and me, we met--say, Andy, give
it a name.”
“The whangobbler,” prompts Andy.
“The whangobbler,” sez Pete. “Me and Andy--aw, Magpie, yuh don’t need
to grin. We’re ridin’ slow-like along the road, and jist as we starts
around the curve at the mouth of Peel Heel Gulch we hears a rippin’
sort of a noise, and right then this said whangobbler enters our
midst.
“My bronc don’t take time to buck. He jist whirls off the grade, turns
plumb over in the air and de-posits me in a mesquite, so what I seen of
it was sort of sudden-like. Andy’s cayuse r’ars up, falls agin’ the side
of the hill, and leaves Andy with his boots in the air over a log. Them
two hosses gits together and leaves fer parts unknown. I kin almost
swear that I hears that whangobbler laugh when we meets disaster.”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Slim. “Yore a fine pair of rustics! Don’t yuh
know a hossless wagon when yuh sees one?”
Andy and Pete looked foolish like at each other and then Andy clears his
throat--
“Pete, that’s jist what I said at----”
“You did like ----!” snaps Pete. “Mebby yuh meant to say that, Andy, but
the things yuh called it couldn’t noways be construed to spell hossless
wagon. Not by about four Chinese alphabets.”
“Scenery Sims!” yelps Pete, after we explains about it. “That li’l ol’
wool-lovin’ pelican! Magpie, you bein’ sheriff of this county, can’t
yuh act as a game-warden long enough to declare open season on the Sims
fambly?”
“The game law,” replies Magpie, “includes elk, deer, antelope, mountain
goats and sheep. Also it protects at all times, beaver, otter and
singin’ birds. He ain’t no otter nor beaver, and I can swear that he
ain’t no singin’ bird. He’s a crow or a buzzard by his voice, the same
bein’ le-gitimate targets at all times.”
“Thanks,” sez Andy. “I allus aims to be within the law. Magpie, are yuh
familiar with the vital parts of one of them wagons?”
“About six inches above the seat.”
“Kerect!” sez Andy. “I don’t like to see anythin’ suffer from bein’
wounded.”
And then he hobbles across the street in his socks to git some
moccasins.
* * * * *
Not tryin’ to change the subject none, but I’d jist like to remark that
hoss-thieves don’t show proper consideration fer the law. If they had
shown proper decency in their callin’ this story probably wouldn’t have
occurred, or if it did I’d have been in the audience instead of on the
stage.
A couple of days after Scenery introduces his machine to the admirin’
populace of Piperock, Magpie gits a call to go over on the Li’l Muddy to
investigate a rustlin’ proposition, and without consultin’ my wishes or
desires, he immediately swears me in as a deputy and drags me along with
him.
I ain’t lost no rustlers. Live and let live is my motter, and I’m so
strong on the first part of that sayin’ that I’m plumb gunshy. We
starts late and reaches Cottonwood Creek that night. Not wishin’ to
have to hunt hosses in the mornin’, we pickets the broncs down on
the creek bottom, and while we’re dreamin’ of shootin’ hundreds of
rustlers with one hand, while we pins glory medals on our bulgin’
breasts with the other, some son-of-a-gun stole our hosses!
All they leaves was, “Thanks,” which was wrote on a piece of paper with
the charred end of a stick, and hung on the picket pin. Magpie looks it
over, picks up the piece of charcoal and writes “Yore welcome” on the
same piece of paper and hangs it back on the stake.
“That li’l trick,” sez Magpie, “shore prejudices me agin’ all
hoss-thieves, Ike. Heretofore I’ve only took a stand agin ’em when
somebody gits peeved at their activities, but hereafter I’m agin all
hoss-thieves, black, white and red.”
“All of which is a noble and upliftin’ oration,” sez I, “but high ideals
and future ambitions don’t cut down the distance from here to Piperock.”
Magpie consults a cigaret or two before he figgers the exact position
which we are occupyin’.
“Ike, we’re about eight miles above the main road, as near as I can
figger. Suppose we jist amble down the creek, and we’re bound to hit
the road. Can’t be over eight miles.”
“And after that,” sez I, cheerfully, “we’ve only got a li’l ol’
measly ten miles more to walk before we sees the ol’ homestead. This
deputy sheriff life is shore great. All yuh got to do is to have some
rattle-headed apology fer a sheriff ask yuh to hol’ up yore right
hand while he repeats a few words which he don’t know the meanin’ of,
and then let him pin a piece of tin on yore manly bosom, and yo’re
organized to go out and capture all lawbreakers and----”
“Walk back,” sez Magpie. “Sarcasm is a great accomplishment, Ike, but it
don’t ease yore achin’ feet. Let’s git a goin’.”
Did yuh ever walk eight miles--the kind of miles of which some hombre
guessed the distance, and then added six more to be sure and have it
long enough--down hill in high-heeled boots? It can be done but
you’ll never feel the same toward yore feet agin. Yore toes bug out
of the end of yore boots until yuh can hear yore toenails squeak, and
jist when yuh thinks yuh can’t stand any more torture, yuh stubs yore
toes on a sharp rock. Hell hath no fury like a stubbed sore toe.
Shore, we arrived at the road, but that didn’t cheer me none. To me it
was only a case of subtractin’ eight from eighteen. We bathes our feet
in the crick to take the swellin’ out, cuts holes in our boots so we
can git ’em on agin, and limps off toward Piperock.
We’ve pilgrimed along fer about a mile when Magpie stops and gazes at
our back trail. By cripes! I hears it too. Bein’ absolutely up to date,
my sensitive ears catches the splutter of a hossless wagon, and she’s
comin’ the same way we’re headed. I looks at Magpie, and his homely face
is harborin’ a grin.
“Why be glad?” I asks.
“Ride, yuh maverick!” he whoops. “We’ll ride home in style, Ike.”
Jist then Scenery and his rattlebox appears around the turn, and Magpie
spreads his long legs in the middle of the road and waves his arms.
“Halt!” he yells, and Scenery heaves hard on the brake. “In the name of
the law I commands yuh to give Ike and me a ride to Piperock.”
Scenery looks some careworn and scratched. He’s got a piece of dirty rag
coverin’ a cut on his forehead, and one eye is assumin’ a purple tint.
“Well,” sez he, lookin’ us over and then movin’ over to one side of the
narrer seat, “the name of the law don’t mean nothin’ to me, but I’m
willin’ to help a friend, Magpie. You fellers will have to ride that
side of the seat double, ’cause this trouble-huntin’ buggy wasn’t built
fer no fambly equipage.”
We climbs aboard and away she goes. By cripes, it shore beat walkin’
four ways from the jack. While she makes a heap of noise it shore
pilgrims along fine, and it did feel queer to be ridin’ along thataway
without nothin’ in front but the road. We swings around the top of the
grade at the summit of Roarin’ Mountain and dips down toward the creek.
Bein’ a fairly steep hill, the wagon seems to gather speed at every
bounce.
“Better ease her up a li’l, Scenery,” sez Magpie, reachin’ back and
gittin’ a good holt on my belt. “There’s a plumb bad curve at the
bottom, and--my Gawd!”
Right around the turn comes a four-hoss team, with Johnny Myers of the
Triangle outfit, drivin’, and Hank Padden, the owner of the Seven A, is
sittin’ beside him on the high seat, smokin’ his pipe. All three of us
yelled at the same time, but them yells were a plumb waste of good wind,
’cause them broncs were too busy to hear ’em. I seen ol’ man Padden hit
the road on the seat of his pants, and Johnny was still in the air as we
passed, so I don’t know jist how he did land. The four hosses went off
through the timber, buckin’ and bawlin’ and makin’ light of that heavy
wagon.
“D-d-d-danged f-fools!” grunts Magpie, as we sailed over a stump and
skidded almost off the road. “D-d-drivin’ wild hosses thataway. Hosses
have shore got to git----”
_Whiz! Spat!_ Magpie’s hat goes sailin’ off into space, and ol’ Scenery
gives her another fork full of gas.
“C-c-c-can Johnny sh-shoot s-s-straight?” yells Scenery in my ear.
I nods my head as much as I can, bein’ as it’s bent backward from
contact with Magpie’s shoulder blades, and then Scenery yells--
“Duck!”
I hears a gentle zephyr _oof_ past my ear, and then we turns a corner
and gits out of sight. Scenery stops his wagon and looks her over.
“I’d say we was goin’ right smart,” he remarks. “Johnny was shootin’ a
30-30 and she jist barely punctures the back of the seat.”
He gits aboard agin and on we goes.
“I’d gather from them remarks,” sez Magpie, “that you’ve had so much
trouble with this machine that a 30-30 bullet more or less ain’t nothin’
out of the ordinary.”
“Yore mouth was full of words jist then,” sez he. “Nothin’ can feeze
me any more. This danged thing can jist about make a man impervious
to any and all kinds of bloodshed. I’ve seen death and destruction
starin’ me in the face fer a week. I’ve wrecked homes, caused
twelve-year-old work hosses to go loco and kick the hand what feeds
’em, and scratched ---- out of my own face. Today this thing opines
to go to the top of Sentinel Butte, and I can’t noways seem to change
its mind. We goes off the east side with great cheer and plenty of
rattle, and ambles half-way down the hill on one wheel. After which
we cultivates a mesquite patch. She shore is acrobatic.”
* * * * *
We chugs cheerfully along until we’re about a mile from town, when we
starts down-grade agin. I reckon that Scenery wants to go into town
some fast, so I don’t pay no attention to our speed until we gits
close. I feels Magpie reachin’ back fer my belt and bracin’ his feet
agin the dashboard, and then I ascertains that we’re movin’ faster
than usual.
We enters that town like a steer with a can on its tail, and pee-rades
right up the main street. We’re goin’ so fast that things are sort of a
blur, but I sees a plenty.
There’s a team tryin’ to do a balancin’ act on the hitch-rack, and
saddle hosses are goin’ away from there in flocks, but what catches
my attention most is a glimpse of Pete Gonyer and Andy Johnson, one
on each side of the road, swingin’ their ropes. Either of them
jaspers is able to pick the foot of a runnin’ steer any ol’ time,
and I has a sinkin’ sensation when I feels a rope slap me on the off
ear.
We loses Scenery.
He jist seems to e-vaporate out of that seat, and we’re so far away when
he comes down that we don’t even hear him grunt. Magpie slides over into
the vacant side of that seat, and takes hold of the steerin’ gear.
“Put on the brake!” I yells in his ear, but he only looks foolish at me
and yells back--
“Th’ danged thing’s gone!”
Shore enough it was! I felt a jar and hears a rippin’ noise as we loses
Scenery, so I reckon one of them ropes picks off that leever. Anyway, it
was gone, and all that was left was about four inches of iron stickin’
up through the bottom.
Magpie leans hard on the steerin’ gear and around we goes like a coyote
tryin’ to dodge a hound, and in a minute or two we’re viewin’ the main
street of Piperock at forty miles per hour.
I reckon the thing ain’t been rode enough to make her bridle-wise ’cause
she deserts the straight and narrer way and breaks straight fer Wick
Smith’s store. I gits a glimpse of Wick, dancin’ a jig in his doorway,
and wavin’ a shotgun.
She swerves at the curb and crosses the street. I sees Weinie Lopp
start through the blacksmith shop and fall into the slack tub in the
excitement. Magpie seems to git control once more and heads her for
Sam Holt’s picket fence. She don’t shy none this time.
Comes a _thr-r-r-r-r-rup_ and what I sees looks like an explosion in a
shingle mill.
“Ike,” yells Magpie, as we saunters out of town agin, “hang on tight! I
don’t know how long the danged thing’s wound up fer, and I ain’t goin’
to have to walk back when she quits.”
“Tend to yore drivin’!” I yells, easin’ myself in the saddle, as we hops
over a pile of boulders. “This ain’t no time fer conversational promises
nor flights of fancy. Where yuh goin’?”
“B-back to town!” he yelps, as he ports his helm, and we spins on one
wheel in the space of a saddle blanket.
I reckon the whole population of our fair city is out to see the
pee-rade this time.
I spies a pedal sort of a dingus in the bottom of the wagon, and I yells
in Magpie’s ear, and points it out to him:
“Why don’t yuh step on that thing? Mebby it’s the brake!”
He nods his head, and does jist what I suggests. By cripes!
That outlaw piece of machinery gives a roar and bores straight fer the
audience. Scatter? Well, some! One greaser, named Pete Gomez, was caught
flatfooted, and when he comes down he drapes over the hay scales like a
sack on a clothes-line. It was all done so danged quick-like that all we
gits is a sort of a general impression, and then we’re out of the other
side of town and goin’ fast.
“Yuh might give that thing a rest!” I yells at Magpie, pointin’ at his
boot which is still loafin’ on that pedal.
“Yah!” he yells back, jist missin’ a mesquite thicket by a hair. “That
thing ain’t no brake, Ike!”
“No, it shore ain’t!” I agrees at the top of my voice. “That’s one
part of the danged thing that we know ain’t what we thinks it might
have been. Look out fer that--Gawd!”
“Quit yore yellin’, Ike! Dog-gone it, I missed that steer a foot.”
“Where yuh goin’ now?” I asks mildly curious-like.
“Town!” he yells above the roar of that instrument of destruction, and
back we shore does go.
Magpie gits sort of careless-like this time. I reckon that familiarity
breeds contempt, and Magpie’s been doin’ so well that he lolls back in
the saddle and misses his location to the extent that we climbs the
board sidewalk of the first house. Not carin’ to do a sidewalk
exhibition we cuts back into the street, takin’ one of the props from
under Jimmie Peyton’s chop-house porch, and bends the front axle of
our mount so she runs a heap bow-legged. It don’t seem to affect her
speed none but she seems to misjudge direction somethin’ scandalous.
“Look!” I yells, grabbin’ Magpie by the arm and pointin’ up the street.
“They’re adoptin’ the block system!”
They’ve run one empty wagon and one load of hay into the street so it’s
impossible fer us to go through, and they knows danged well that in
spite of the fact that we’ve got some acrobatic buggy she ain’t equal to
no such jump as that.
I glances at Magpie. His mouth is wide open, and yuh could hang yore
hat on his eyes when he sees what we’re up against. He simply stares
and drives to our doom.
I’ve heard tell that in a case like that a feller’s past life comes up
and slaps him in the face. Mine didn’t. We was goin’ so fast that all I
could remember was that one of my red drawers legs was tore off at the
knee and that my mismated socks were full of holes.
I reckon that Magpie was dazed some, and I jist gits presence of mind
enough to grab his arm and yell--
“Pick the hay, yuh blasted fool!”
Yuh see, he was steerin’ straight fer the empty wagon. I don’t know
whether I pulls hard on his arm and whether the yell does the
business, but anyway we didn’t hit that wagon a-tall. We turns like
a steer tryin’ to git back to the main herd, and hits the hitch-rack
square in the middle.
The four by six across the top of the rack is jist high enough to hit
the bottom of the seat. When we swerves, we natcherally rests on our
shoulder blades with our boots in the air, and that cross-piece picks
the seat right off. Bein’ as we’re on the seat, it’s some pickin’s.
I remembers gittin’ a view of Piperock upside down, and I sees a boot
heel above me which I identifies as belongin’ to Magpie, so from that
I’d opine that he broke all altitude records, and then somebody blows
out the lights.
I reckon I’m a li’l off in the head, ’cause there seems to be people
twenty feet tall all around me, and I hears a voice--sounded somethin’
like Pete Gonyer’s--sayin’--
“Mebby he’ll pull through.”
And then another giant speaks up and says--
“Don’t be joyful, he may live.”
And then I turns into a beautiful dove, and I’m flyin’ along in the
clouds, and I sees another dove which is Magpie, and we’re flyin’ in
opposite directions. Fer some reason neither of us can turn out, and
we meets in the air in one awful smash. I feels the life-blood flowin’
out of my beautiful beak, and then I wakes up long enough to hear Buck
Masterson yell:
“Don’t spill all that good hooch, Slim! If he’s too dead to swaller
likker there’s no use forcin’ it down!”
I sets up and looks around.
Magpie is settin’ on the pool-table holdin’ his head in his hands, and
Scenery Sims is slumped down in a chair, with a half-full bottle hangin’
loose-like in his hand, and he’s starin’ at a knot-hole in the floor.
“Well,” sez I, sizin’ up the assemblage, “we seem to have stopped.”
“Uh-huh,” agrees Buck, “it would seem that way. What was you fellers
tryin’ to do--make a hossless racetrack out of our main street?”
Bein’ a meek sort of a person, I’m jist about to make a soft answer
when--
_Bang!_ The windows rattled, and a picture fell off the wall and busts a
couple of bottles on the bar.
“What the ---- was that!” yelps Buck. “Sounded like----”
Sam Holt stumbles inside, and I sees him tryin’ to stuff into his pants
pocket what looks to me like a piece o’ blastin’ fuse.
“Say,” sez he, before any one else has time to ask a question, “that
danged machine didn’t show no judgment whatever! She stops out there on
the flat, right over a place where I’ve done cached twelve sticks of
dynamite. I plants it there ’cause nobody ever knows when that stuff is
due to bust. I reckon it was the hand of Providence, Scenery.”
Scenery sets that bottle carefully on the table, wabbles over to Sam and
sticks out his hand.
“Sam,” sez he, “yore a bringer of good news. You’ve done saved this
remnant of the Sims tribe from dyin’ with its boots on, and jist to
show that there ain’t no hard feelins I’d like to shake hands, and
inquire the price o’ hossflesh.”
And the hand of Providence and the hand of Scenery Sims met.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 3, 1918 issue
of Adventure magazine.]
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516,
Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
