Part 6

Indigo nodded and went to the restaurant. After that he repaired to the saloon where a royal greeting awaited him. He took the acclaim with due modesty--tinged somewhat with gloom. For he heard the sacred precincts of the Geyser echo with sentiments hitherto alien. Men were discussing the town that for thirty odd years had been poison and plague to them; and they were admitting, with a magnanimous show of impartiality, that perhaps Jingle Bell had harbored unjust suspicions. The feeling seemed to be that although Big Elk had practically stolen the county seat and would likewise steal anything else that wasn’t riveted to the landscape, yet there might be a few decent people over thereabouts. Anyhow, this fighting business had gone on too long; it was time to quit--to live and let live. Thus the spirit of fraternal concord rose from the ashes and became a pale and fluttering ray, which in time and with careful nursing might actually generate heat and energy. Indigo shook his head. It looked as if a banquet was inevitable.

“It’ll be awful!” said he, to himself.

* * * * *

Big Elk’s formal invitation to the banquet reached Jingle Bell the next day, borne by Joe Breedlove and three others. An equal number of Jingle Bell dignitaries was hastily got together and the two parties convened at the Geyser where a judicious amount of liquid was imbibed to remove vocal impediments. Observations were made as to the weather and the state of the beef stock; after that Joe Breedlove, unmistakably the guiding spirit of his delegation, rehearsed a little past history and proposed the banquet. The Jingle Bell committee returned adequate compliments, promised to consider the matter and referred to that remark made by the governor of North Carolina to the governor of South Carolina. Immediately upon the departure of the Big Elk delegation a convention of the citizens was summoned.

There were certain benighted gentlemen who saw no good in the proposition, but the forces of progress gradually won. After all, it wouldn’t be seemly for Jingle Bell to back down from any proposition Big Elk made and the meeting got down to particulars. Obviously, the affair couldn’t be held in either town--that would give one party too great a bulge on the other. It was also suggested that the number of each side should be the same, to wit, fifteen. Phil Layton, a veteran of the country, set this number; and it is to be believed that he did so after calculating the number of good shots available.

That was the sense of the convention. In due time it was conveyed to Big Elk with congratulations, best regards, and all good wishes. Big Elk thereupon called another convention and discussed Jingle Bell’s amendments at ample length. Every comma, period and ink spot was scrutinized for possible double-meaning and guile. But no colored man was found in the woodpile. Presently it was decided that the Three Pines ranch-house would make a suitable point at which to hold the banquet, being situated midway between towns. It was further decided that if Jingle Bell was so suspicious as to limit the number, then fifteen tried and true stalwarts only should plant their boots under the table on each side. And this was transmitted back to Jingle Bell with felicitations, the greeting of the season, and happy sentiments.

* * * * *

Immediately Jingle Bell, in convention assembled, tore the latest proposals quite apart, suspected trickery but could not find it, and reluctantly assented; adding the further proviso that all guns should be checked outside the door and that there should be one extra man from each town to guard these weapons. Nor were there to be any other kind of death-dealing instruments to be carried inside the house. Pocket knives, it was agreed after considerable debate, would not be considered as weapons. At this point Indigo left the Geyser and studied the stars. “Civic harmony? It sounds like trouble hell-bent around the corner to me. Somebody’s goin’ to get shot yet.”

* * * * *

After that a kind of grim silence settled over the county for thirty-six hours. On each side, fifteen men and a gun guard were chosen. Certain other arrangements, not exactly in the compact and somewhat shrouded by obscurity, were made. And at exactly seven o’clock, as twilight fell, the two parties met, dismounted together, gave up their guns together and passed inside the Three Pines ranch-house. Stoic gravity marbled each swart face; and the feast of amity began in silence, with potato soup. Indigo had chosen the seat nearest the door; but observing Joe Breedlove watching him from the remote end of the room, he sighed gently and moved on down until he was across from his partner. There was a hitch right at the beginning. It was discovered that an extra plate had been laid, on each side of the table. The assembled gentry of Jingle Bell looked gravely at the assembled Big Elk partisans. Joe Breedlove rose up and said, “I reckon they misjudged the number we wanted. Let it slide. No harm done.”

But a Big Elk man murmured, “Jes’ a minute,” and went outside. A soft whistle cleft the darkness; the gentleman presently returned with a recruit who took the empty plate on Big Elk’s side. At this Joe Breedlove frowned upon his own townsmen, but nobody returned his glance. A Jingle Bell cohort vanished into the shadows with equal promptitude and had the same measure of success in finding another man. A certain reserve contaminated the atmosphere, a certain regrettable chill came at each wary eye. Indigo drank his soup dourly. It may have been that there was an ironic flicker in his green orbs when he looked to his partner; it may have been that Joe Breedlove dropped a lid in reply. At any rate the tall partner rose, his silver hair gleaming in the lamplight and a mellow smile on his bronzed and handsome face. The very sight of him there was enough to thaw the atmosphere; it was a rare time when Joe could not bend men with the charm of his genial assurance, the quizzical humor of his eyes. He looked from man to man and waved his arm across their heads as if in benediction.

“Boys,” said he, drawling each syllable, “it does me good to see this. They was some carping critics that maintained no good would ever come of it. They was some gents that misdoubted these two nice, upstandin’ little cities could ever meet in polite palaver. Those fellows had the beam in their eyes.” He looked cheerfully at Indigo and appeared not to see the leer of doubt upon his partner’s wizened features. “Yeah, the beam in their eyes. Now me, I’m a son of Big Elk. But I set a great store by the prosperity o’ the county. It has shorely grieved me two such fine cities couldn’t abide in peace an’ put the civic shoulders to the wheel o’ the progress. After all, it was the work of gents who wanted trouble for their own ends. It’s settled now. We want to bury the bone o’ contention so deep that old Nick’s own dog Nero won’t ever scratch it up. Now, I see a man over on the Jingle Bell side that I used to punch cows for. A square, upright gent who has always got a sensible word danglin’ on his tongue. Rise up, Phil Layton, an’ pour a little oil.”

* * * * *

The designated personage looked as if somebody had caught him in the act of stealing sheep. He said something like, “I’ll be gug-gug----” in a strangled voice. But the eyes of the multitude were upon him and so he stood up, a slab-sided fellow with a hatchet jaw and no amount of fraternal cheer on his leather jowls. He opened his mouth, closed it, picked a knife from the table and ran it across his coat sleeve. “Well, I dunno,” said he. “Mebbe we-all have been sorter careless. Not that I’m apologizin’ for Jingle Bell y’unnerstan’; ner condemnin’ Big Elk. Anybody’s apt to shoot off a few poisonous remarks. It’s possible both sides was rash. Seems to me the side which is biggest was the most rash--which might be natural. Of course all this how-do started thirty-one years ago, come July, when the county seat was boldly stole----”

At this point a remark seeped out of some gentleman on the Big Elk side. It had no precise meaning, but its intent was distinctly ribald, distinctly challenging. It sounded like “Rats,” though, of course, there were no rats in that room. A noticeable livening of interest passed along the festive board. Every man but one stopped eating, the exception being Indigo, who was doggedly determined to fill up before trouble started. Joe Breedlove hastily interposed. “You was sayin’, wasn’t you, Phil, that it was time we sh’d quit fightin’?”

Phil Layton grimly faced the serene Joe. “Yeh,” he grunted. “Them was my words--if I said ’em.”

This might have saved the evening and the general meeting of minds might have gone on undisturbed had not another skeptic on the Big Elk side muttered, “Huh!” in a very suspicious manner. Phil Layton swung angrily. “What was yuh gruntin’ about, yuh moon faced sheepeater?”

The Big Elk partisan was not reluctant about entering the parley. “I was wonderin’ how many extra men Jingle Bell has got hid over by the poplars.”

“Oh, is that bitin’ yuh?” snapped Layton. “Well, prob’ly we ain’t got half so many as you boys have cached out behind the barns.”

“Who said we had any fellows hidin’ behind the corrals?” countered the Big Elk gentleman. “It’s a dam’ lie. And even if it ain’t a lie, we knowed blamed well you fellas would try a stunt like that.”

“Like I was sayin’--” interposed Joe Breedlove; but the tide rushed in and bore him out of the scene. Indigo tilted his head toward the ceiling, appearing to see nothing, hear nothing. Yet he saw and heard everything; and his relaxed attitude was only a mask. He was ready to jump.

* * * * *

Phil Layton hammered the table, his words smacked the air resoundingly. “If they’s any rannies pulled around here it’ll be on the Big Elk side. Yuh couldn’t no more help bein’ crooked than a snake could help crawl. Yuh stole the county seat--yuh’d steal offen yore own grand folks, providin’ yuh had any, which I doubt. I don’t want to git personal none, but I will observe somethin’ in this room smells an’ it comes from yore side o’ the table!”

Forthwith a Big Elk stalwart rose to his feet. “The atmosphere is some tainted all right. But the breeze is blowin’ from yore direction. Jingle Bell has been dead thirty years--an’ it ain’t been buried yet.”

Chairs flew back; up rose the assembled gentlemen. Indigo sighed and shrugged his thin shoulders. “Jes’ a minute,” pleaded Joe. “They’s a mistake----”

“You bet they’s a mistake!” bellowed Phil Layton. “The mistake is tryin’ to get sixteen mutton lovers to eat beef! I ain’t a proud man, but my ears shore do burn to think what a disgraceful night this is for me.”

“Nothin’ ever comes from Jingle Bell but dust,” jeered another Big Elk partisan. “Dust an’ hot air!”

“Yeh? Well, they’s plenty o’ Big Elk boys that’s proud o’ Jingle Bell when yore tinhorn sheriff gets busy.”