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Laughing Bill Hyde
by
“Do you believe her story?” Thomas inquired.
“She don’t know enough to lie, and you can’t trust a guy that wears his collar backwards.”
“She should go to court.”
Mr. Hyde shook his head. “I been there, often, but I never picked up a bet. Somehow or other courts is usually right next to jails, and you got to watch out you don’t get in the wrong place. You can’t win nothing in either one. I thought I’d tell you the story, so if you ever meet up with this shave-tail preacher and he wants a headache pill you can slip him some sugar-coated arsenic.”
In the days immediately following Doctor Thomas’s arrival at Nome he was a busy man, but he did not forget Ponatah. He was allowed no opportunity of doing so, for Bill frequently reminded him of her, and as a result it was not long before he found a place for his charge, in the home of a leading merchant. Arrangements made, Bill went in search of the mail-carrier.
Petersen was drinking with two friends at the bar of the Last Chance, and he pressed his late passenger to join them. But alcoholism was not one of Mr. Hyde’s weaknesses. The best of Bill’s bad habits was much worse than drink; he had learned from experience that liquor put a traitor’s tongue in his head, and in consequence he was a teetotaler.
“I got a job for you, Pete,” he announced. “I got you another sled-load for your next trip. You know Ponatah?”
“Ponatah? Sure Aye know ‘im.” Petersen. spoke with enthusiasm.
“Well, bring her along when you come. Me ‘n’ the little Doc will settle.”
“Dat’s good yob for me, all right. Vot mak’ you tank she’ll come? Aye ask her plenty tams, but she ant like me.”
“You slip her this billy-ducks and she’ll come.”
Petersen pocketed the letter which Bill handed him; his eyes brightened; the flush in his face deepened. “You bet your gum boots Aye bring her. She’s svell, ant she, Bill? She’s yust some svell like white voman.”
“Who’s this?” queried one of Petersen’s companions.
“Ponatah. She’s jung sqvaw. Aye got eyes on dat chicken long tam now.” The burly mail-man laughed loudly and slapped his friend on the shoulder.
Mr. Hyde appeared to share in the general good nature. Carelessly, smilingly he picked up Petersen’s dog-whip, which lay coiled on the bar; thoughtfully he weighed it. The lash was long, but the handle was short and thick, and its butt was loaded with shot; it had much the balance of a black-jack–a weapon not unknown to Mr. Hyde.
“Pretty soft for you mail-men.” The former speaker grinned.
“Ja! Pretty soft. Aye bet Aye have good tam dis trip. Yust vait. You don’t know how purty is Ponatah. She–“
Petersen’s listeners waited. They are waiting yet, for the mail-man never completed his admiring recital of the Indian girl’s charms, owing to the fact that the genial Mr. Hyde without warning tapped his late friend’s round head with the leather butt of the dog-whip. Had it not been for the Norseman’s otter cap it is probable that a new mail-carrier would have taken the St. Michaels run.
Petersen sat down upon his heels, and rested his forehead against the cool brass foot-rail; the subsequent proceedings interested him not at all. Those proceedings were varied and sudden, for the nearest and dearest of Petersen’s friends rushed upon Mr. Hyde with a roar. Him, too, Bill eliminated from consideration with the loaded whip handle. But, this done, Bill found himself hugged in the arms of the other man, as in the embrace of a bereaved she-grizzly. Now even at his best the laughing Mr. Hyde was no hand at rough-and-tumble, it being his opinion that fisticuffs was a peculiarly indecisive and exhausting way of settling a dispute. He possessed a vile temper, moreover, and once aroused half measures failed to satisfy it.
After Mr. Hyde’s admirable beginning those neutrals who had seen the start of the affray were prepared to witness an ending equally quick and conclusive. They were surprised, therefore, to note that Bill put up a very weak struggle, once he had come to close quarters. He made only the feeblest resistance, before permitting himself to be borne backward to the floor, and then as he lay pinned beneath his opponent he did not even try to guard the blows that rained upon him; as a matter of fact, he continued to laugh as if the experience were highly diverting.