Heart of the West [Annotated]

But some four squares farther down lively preparations were being made to minister to Mr. Catesby's love for interchange of compliments and repartee. On the previous night numerous messengers had hastened to advise Buck Patterson, the city marshal, of Calliope's impending eruption. The patience of that official, often strained in extending leniency toward the disturber's misdeeds, had been overtaxed. In Quicksand some indulgence was accorded the natural ebullition of human nature. Providing that the lives of the more useful citizens were not recklessly squandered, or too much property needlessly laid waste, the community sentiment was against a too strict enforcement of the law. But Calliope had raised the limit. His outbursts had been too frequent and too violent to come within the classification of a normal and sanitary relaxation of spirit.

Buck Patterson had been expecting and awaiting in his little ten-by-twelve frame office that preliminary yell announcing that Calliope was feeling blue. When the signal came the city marshal rose to his feet and buckled on his guns. Two deputy sheriffs and three citizens who had proven the edible qualities of fire also stood up, ready to bandy with Calliope's leaden jocularities.

"Gather that fellow in," said Buck Patterson, setting forth the lines of the campaign. "Don't have no talk, but shoot as soon as you can get a show. Keep behind cover and bring him down. He's a nogood 'un. It's up to Calliope to turn up his toes this time, I reckon. Go to him all spraddled out, boys. And don't git too reckless, for what Calliope shoots at he hits."

Buck Patterson, tall, muscular, and solemn-faced, with his bright "City Marshal" badge shining on the breast of his blue flannel shirt, gave his posse directions for the onslaught upon Calliope. The plan was to accomplish the downfall of the Quicksand Terror without loss to the attacking party, if possible.

The splenetic Calliope, unconscious of retributive plots, was steaming down the channel, cannonading on either side, when he suddenly became aware of breakers ahead. The city marshal and one of the deputies rose up behind some dry-goods boxes half a square to the front and opened fire. At the same time the rest of the posse, divided, shelled him from two side streets up which they were cautiously manoeuvring from a well-executed detour.

The first volley broke the lock of one of Calliope's guns, cut a neat underbit in his right ear, and exploded a cartridge in his crossbelt, scorching his ribs as it burst. Feeling braced up by this unexpected tonic to his spiritual depression, Calliope executed a fortissimo note from his upper register, and returned the fire like an echo. The upholders of the law dodged at his flash, but a trifle too late to save one of the deputies a bullet just above the elbow, and the marshal a bleeding cheek from a splinter that a ball tore from the box he had ducked behind.

And now Calliope met the enemy's tactics in kind. Choosing with a rapid eye the street from which the weakest and least accurate fire had come, he invaded it at a double-quick, abandoning the unprotected middle of the street. With rare cunning the opposing force in that direction – one of the deputies and two of the valorous volunteers – waited, concealed by beer barrels, until Calliope had passed their retreat, and then peppered him from the rear. In another moment they were reinforced by the marshal and his other men, and then Calliope felt that in order to successfully prolong the delights of the controversy he must find some means of reducing the great odds against him. His eye fell upon a structure that seemed to hold out this promise, providing he could reach it.

Not far away was the little railroad station, its building a strong box house, ten by twenty feet, resting upon a platform four feet above ground. Windows were in each of its walls. Something like a fort it might become to a man thus sorely pressed by superior numbers.

Calliope made a bold and rapid spurt for it, the marshal's crowd "smoking" him as he ran. He reached the haven in safety, the station agent leaving the building by a window, like a flying squirrel, as the garrison entered the door.

Patterson and his supporters halted under protection of a pile of lumber and held consultations. In the station was an unterrified desperado who was an excellent shot and carried an abundance of ammunition. For thirty yards on either side of the besieged was a stretch of bare, open ground. It was a sure thing that the man who attempted to enter that unprotected area would be stopped by one of Calliope's bullets.

The city marshal was resolved. He had decided that Calliope Catesby should no more wake the echoes of Quicksand with his strident whoop. He had so announced. Officially and personally he felt imperatively bound to put the soft pedal on that instrument of discord. It played bad tunes.

Standing near was a hand truck used in the manipulation of small freight. It stood by a shed full of sacked wool, a consignment from one of the sheep ranches. On this truck the marshal and his men piled three heavy sacks of wool. Stooping low, Buck Patterson started for Calliope's fort, slowly pushing this loaded truck before him for protection. The posse, scattering broadly, stood ready to nip the besieged in case he should show himself in an effort to repel the juggernaut of justice that was creeping upon him. Only once did Calliope make demonstration. He fired from a window, and some tufts of wool spurted from the marshal's trustworthy bulwark. The return shots from the posse pattered against the window frame of the fort. No loss resulted on either side.

The marshal was too deeply engrossed in steering his protected battleship to be aware of the approach of the morning train until he was within a few feet of the platform. The train was coming up on the other side of it. It stopped only one minute at Quicksand. What an opportunity it would offer to Calliope! He had only to step out the other door, mount the train, and away.

Abandoning his breastwork, Buck, with his gun ready, dashed up the steps and into the room, driving upon the closed door with one heave of his weighty shoulder. The members of the posse heard one shot fired inside, and then there was silence.

At length the wounded man opened his eyes. After a blank space he again could see and hear and feel and think. Turning his eyes about, he found himself lying on a wooden bench. A tall man with a perplexed countenance, wearing a big badge with "City Marshal" engraved upon it, stood over him. A little old woman in black, with a wrinkled face and sparkling black eyes, was holding a wet handkerchief against one of his temples. He was trying to get these facts fixed in his mind and connected with past events, when the old woman began to talk.

"There now, great, big, strong man! That bullet never tetched ye! Jest skeeted along the side of your head and sort of paralysed ye for a spell. I've heerd of sech things afore; cun-cussion is what they names it. Abel Wadkins used to kill squirrels that way – barkin' 'em, Abe called it. You jest been barked, sir, and you'll be all right in a little bit. Feel lots better already, don't ye! You just lay still a while longer and let me bathe your head. You don't know me, I reckon, and 'tain't surprisin' that you shouldn't. I come in on that train from Alabama to see my son. Big son, ain't he? Lands! you wouldn't hardly think he'd ever been a baby, would ye? This is my son, sir."

Half turning, the old woman looked up at the standing man, her worn face lighting with a proud and wonderful smile. She reached out one veined and calloused hand and took one of her son's. Then smiling cheerily down at the prostrate man, she continued to dip the handkerchief in the waiting-room tin washbasin and gently apply it to his temple. She had the benevolent garrulity of old age.

"I ain't seen my son before," she continued, "in eight years. One of my nephews, Elkanah Price, he's a conductor on one of them railroads and he got me a pass to come out here. I can stay a whole week on it, and then it'll take me back again. Jest think, now, that little boy of mine has got to be a officer – a city marshal of a whole town! That's somethin' like a constable, ain't it? I never knowed he was a officer; he didn't say nothin' about it in his letters. I reckon he thought his old mother'd be skeered about the danger he was in. But, laws! I never was much of a hand to git skeered. 'Tain't no use. I heard them guns a-shootin' while I was gettin' off them cars, and I see smoke a-comin' out of the depot, but I jest walked right along. Then I see son's face lookin' out through the window. I knowed him at oncet. He met me at the door, and squeezes me 'most to death. And there you was, sir, a-lyin' there jest like you was dead, and I 'lowed we'd see what might be done to help sot you up."

"I think I'll sit up now," said the concussion patient. "I'm feeling pretty fair by this time."

He sat, somewhat weakly yet, leaning against the wall. He was a rugged man, big-boned and straight. His eyes, steady and keen, seemed to linger upon the face of the man standing so still above him. His look wandered often from the face he studied to the marshal's badge upon the other's breast.

"Yes, yes, you'll be all right," said the old woman, patting his arm, "if you don't get to cuttin' up agin, and havin' folks shooting at you. Son told me about you, sir, while you was layin' senseless on the floor. Don't you take it as meddlesome fer an old woman with a son as big as you to talk about it. And you mustn't hold no grudge ag'in' my son for havin' to shoot at ye. A officer has got to take up for the law – it's his duty – and them that acts bad and lives wrong has to suffer. Don't blame my son any, sir – 'tain't his fault. He's always been a good boy – good when he was growin' up, and kind and 'bedient and well-behaved. Won't you let me advise you, sir, not to do so no more? Be a good man, and leave liquor alone and live peaceably and goodly. Keep away from bad company and work honest and sleep sweet."

The black-mitted hand of the old pleader gently touched the breast of the man she addressed. Very earnest and candid her old, worn face looked. In her rusty black dress and antique bonnet she sat, near the close of a long life, and epitomised the experience of the world. Still the man to whom she spoke gazed above her head, contemplating the silent son of the old mother.

"What does the marshal say?" he asked. "Does he believe the advice is good? Suppose the marshal speaks up and says if the talk's all right?"

The tall man moved uneasily. He fingered the badge on his breast for a moment, and then he put an arm around the old woman and drew her close to him. She smiled the unchanging mother smile of three-score years, and patted his big brown hand with her crooked, mittened fingers while her son spake.

"I says this," he said, looking squarely into the eyes of the other man, "that if I was in your place I'd follow it. If I was a drunken, desp'rate character, without shame or hope, I'd follow it. If I was in your place and you was in mine I'd say: 'Marshal, I'm willin' to swear if you'll give me the chance I'll quit the racket. I'll drop the tanglefoot and the gun play, and won't play hoss no more. I'll be a good citizen and go to work and quit my foolishness. So help me God!' That's what I'd say to you if you was marshal and I was in your place."

"Hear my son talkin'," said the old woman softly. "Hear him, sir. You promise to be good and he won't do you no harm. Forty-one year ago his heart first beat ag'in' mine, and it's beat true ever since."

The other man rose to his feet, trying his limbs and stretching his muscles.

"Then," said he, "if you was in my place and said that, and I was marshal, I'd say: 'Go free, and do your best to keep your promise.'"

"Lawsy!" exclaimed the old woman, in a sudden flutter, "ef I didn't clear forget that trunk of mine! I see a man settin' it on the platform jest as I seen son's face in the window, and it went plum out of my head. There's eight jars of home-made quince jam in that trunk that I made myself. I wouldn't have nothin' happen to them jars for a red apple."

Away to the door she trotted, spry and anxious, and then Calliope Catesby spoke out to Buck Patterson:

"I just couldn't help it, Buck. I seen her through the window a-comin' in. She never had heard a word 'bout my tough ways. I didn't have the nerve to let her know I was a worthless cuss bein' hunted down by the community. There you was lyin' where my shot laid you, like you was dead. The idea struck me sudden, and I just took your badge off and fastened it onto myself, and I fastened my reputation onto you. I told her I was the marshal and you was a holy terror. You can take your badge back now, Buck."

With shaking fingers Calliope began to unfasten the disc of metal from his shirt.

"Easy there!" said Buck Patterson. "You keep that badge right where it is, Calliope Catesby. Don't you dare to take it off till the day your mother leaves this town. You'll be city marshal of Quicksand as long as she's here to know it. After I stir around town a bit and put 'em on I'll guarantee that nobody won't give the thing away to her. And say, you leather-headed, rip-roarin', low-down son of a locoed cyclone, you follow that advice she give me! I'm goin' to take some of it myself, too."

"Buck," said Calliope feelingly, "ef I don't I hope I may – "

"Shut up," said Buck. "She's a-comin' back."

1

Frio– The Rio Frio arises in mountainous country about 75 miles west of San Antonio and flows southeast to the Gulf of Mexico. Its upper stretches are spring-fed and often crystal-clear.

2

lobos– (Spanish) wolves

3

mayordomo– (Spanish) steward, head of the household staff; also a ranch foreman

4

pear– prickly-pear cactus, the most common variety of large cactus in Texas, often growing in great clumps

5

Henry Thomas Buckle (1821-1862) was a self-taught historian. He planned a series of books to explain the idea that history – especially the progress of nations and peoples – followed laws similar to those being described in the natural sciences. The first volume of his History of Civilization in England, published in 1857, was only an introduction to his theme, but it made Buckle a celebrity. The second volume appeared in 1861, but Buckle died the following year without completing his series. The two volumes were widely read during the decade or two after his death. O. Henry read voraciously as a child and would likely have been familiar with the work.

6

Septimus Winner (1827-1902), a gifted composer (he wrote "Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone."), teacher, and performer was the author of at least 200 books on how to play numerous musical instruments.

7

The Lick Observatory, the first permanent mountain-top observatory, was built in the 1880's. Its 36-inch refracting telescope was the largest in the world until the Yerkes Observatory was opened in 1897.

8

"Two Orphans" – probably a reference to a popular play, "Le Deux Orphelines," written in 1875 by Adolphe d'Ennery and Eugène Cormon

9

opodeldoc– a camphorated liniment of soap mixed with alcohol

10

animals.. there– a reference to delerium tremens, in which hallucinatory visions of animals or insects is common. O. Henry was a heavy drinker in his later years (he probably died of complications of alcoholism) and might have experienced delerium tremens personally.

11

Henry Rider Haggard (1856-1925) wrote novels set in exotic locations. His best known work is King Solomon's Mines (1885).

Lew Dockstader had one of the last major travelling minstrel companies and was its principal comedian.

Dr. Charles Henry Parkhurst (1842-1933), pastor of New York's Madison Square Presbyterian Church from 1880 to 1919, was noted for his denunciations of vice and governmental corruption. He was instrumental in the campaign against Tammany Hall.

12

botts– a parasitic intestation of the intestines of animals, especially horses, by larvae of the botfly

13

Homer K… Ruby Ott– If the reader has not yet deciphered the references, he should consult Project Gutenberg's e-book #246 ( )

14

"deep as first love, and wild with all regret"– Tennyson, The Princess, Part IV, Song:

"Deep as remembered kisses after death,And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'dOn lips that are for others; deep as love,Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;O Death in Life, the days that are no more."

One must wonder whether O. Henry remembered these lines because of the untimely death of his young first wife Athol, whom he loved dearly.

15

cañada– (Spanish) a sheep camp or ranch

16

San Miguel Creek flows into the Frio south of San Antonio near the ranches where O. Henry lived in his youth.

17

The Nueces River is one of the major rivers of West Texas, running roughly parallel to and west of the Frio.

18

Palestine is a town in East Texas, but Jud mistakes it for the Holy Land.

19

merino– a breed of sheep noted for fine wool

20

O. Henry was an expert marksman with a pistol, a skill he picked up on the Texas ranches. Marksmanship plays an important role in another story in this book, "The Princess and the Puma."

21

piedra– (Spanish) stone; a rocky place

22

howdah– a seat, often with a canopy, for riding an elephant or camel

23

The San Antonio & Aransas Pass Railroad, affectionately called the "SAAP" by two generations of Texans, was eventually incorporated into the International & Great Northern and later into the Missouri Pacific. As late as 1920 summer vacationers going to Central Texas resorts such as Comfort could take the S.A. & A.P. from San Antonio as far as Boerne (now on the northern edge of San Antonio) and then ride a stagecoach the rest of the way.

24

Grease-us– a play on the name of Croesus

25

Eighteenth Century mariners called the petrel (a large sea bird) "Mother Cary's chicken."

26

crack-loo– a form of gambling in which coins are tossed high into the air with the object having one's coin land nearest a crack in the floor

27

The Menger Hotel was (and still is) a San Antonio landmark. Built in 1859 near the Alamo, its guests have included Robert E. Lee, U. S. Grant, Theodore Roosevelt, and Sarah Bernhardt.

28

suaderos– O. Henry uses this term in several stories. He probably meant "sudaderos," which are saddle blankets or pads. The term is also sometimes used to refer to pads that prevent the stirrup straps from rubbing the rider's leg. O. Henry undoubtedly picked up the word during his stay on South Texas ranches, but he probably never saw the word written, and "suaderos" was what he came up with many years later when writing. This annotator is grateful to Michael K. DeWitt of Oklahoma State University for explaining this reference.

29

Cambon snack– This term eludes definitive explanation. It might refer to the brothers Paul and Jules Cambon. Paul was the French ambassador to Great Britain from 1898 to 1920; in 1904 he negotiated the Entente Cordiale between France and Britain that was the basis for their alliance in World War I. Jules was the French ambassador to the U.S. from 1897 to 1902 and was the French ambassador to Germany at the outbreak of World War I.

30

Sir Thomas Henry Hall Caine (1853-1931) was a very popular British novelist and playwright in his day, but his works have now been largely forgotten. As of July, 2004, two of his books, and , can be found in Project Gutenberg's library.

31

cicerone– a sight-seeing guide

32

suttee– the practice in India (now illegal) of a widow being burned to death (voluntarily or involuntarily) on her husband's funeral pyre

33

In the late 1800's and early 1900's western air was thought to be efficacious in healing tuberculosis (no drug therapy was then available), and many patients were sent to San Antonio. This theme appears in other O. Henry stories. There was a history of tuberculosis in O. Henry's family, and while he never had overt signs of the disease, he was allowed to go (or sent) to Texas at age 20 partly for his health.

34

Russell Sage (1815-1906) was a well-known wealthy New York businessman with financial interests in banking, western railroads, and Western Union.

35

mutoscope– In 1894 Henry Norton Marvin and Herman Casler patented the mutoscope, a device for showing moving pictures. A sequence of photographs was attached to a rotating drum, so that the images were flipped rapidly from one to the next as the drum rotated, creating the illusion of motion.

36

International– The International and Great Northern Railroad (I. & G. N.) plays a prominent role in many of O. Henry's stories. It was one of the great early railroads of Texas, beginning in the northeast corner of the state and gradually extending southwestward almost 600 miles, reaching Rockdale by 1873, Austin by 1876, then San Antonio, and eventually the Mexican border at Laredo in 1881. Later it became part of the Missouri Pacific system.

37

There is a town named Rincón almost 200 miles south of San Antonio, but it is not on the route of the I. & G. N. O. Henry often appropriated names of real places for his stories without worrying about geographical correctness. The description here is undoubtedly from O. Henry's memory of his journey from his home in North Carolina to a ranch in LaSalle County, Texas, when he was twenty. He would have gotten off the I. & G. N. at Cotulla, about 90 miles south of San Antonio, and ridden to the ranch as described in this paragraph. The description of this journey, with its vistas and aromas, is repeated in a number of O. Henry's stories.

38

javeli– native wild pigs of the Sonoran desert, more often called javelinas, prized by hunters because of their ferocity. Their name comes from the Spanish word for javelin, "jabalina," because of their razor-sharp teeth.

39

Drinking water was stored in clay containers in the shade. Water seeped through the clay to the surface, where it evaporated, and the evaporation cooled the jar and its contents.

40

señorito– (Spanish) young man, little man

41

Esta bueno?– (Spanish) Is that good? Is that all right?

42

mil gracias– (Spanish) a thousand thanks

43

kobold– in German folklore an elf or gnome who haunts underground places

44

gehenna– (Biblical) a place of abomination; Hell

45

The Guadalupe River arises in the Hill Country of Central Texas northwest of San Antonio and flows southeast to the Gulf of Mexico.

46

Another of O. Henry's lapses from geographical accuracy. The Guadalupe is much farther than twenty miles to the north and east from the setting of this story.

47

treinta, cuarenta– (Spanish) thirty, forty

48

rangers– Texas Rangers, an elite law-enforcement organization which began in the 1830's, even before Texas became an independent republic. One of O. Henry's hosts during his stay on ranches in South Texas was Leigh Hall, a man from O. Henry's home town in North Carolina, who had been one of the most famous Texas Rangers. Hall had resigned from the Rangers and was managing a ranch when O. Henry was taken to Texas by Hall's parents. Hall probably served as a model for many of O. Henry's Ranger heroes.