Monkeying with ancestors
Date: 2026-07-25T00:00:00+00:00

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Title: Monkeying with ancestors

Author: W. C. Tuttle

Release date: July 25, 2026 [eBook #79178]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: The Ridgway Company, 1918

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79178

Credits: Prepared by volunteers at BookCove (bookcove.net)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONKEYING WITH ANCESTORS ***

MONKEYING WITH ANCESTORS
by W. C. Tuttle

Author of “Salt of the Earth,” “Clean Crazy,” etc.

Me and “Chuck” Warner sets there on uh truck on the depot platform at Paradise, and wishes we had enough money left to buy uh ticket on the train what has just announced its approach to our city.

“I’m sick uh Paradise and the Cross-J outfit,” declares Chuck. “There ain’t never nothing going on, and uh feller just simply dies uh dry rot. Yuh can’t even get into uh honest poker game no more.”

“You trusts your friends too much,” I replies. “If you’d uh done what I wanted yuh to last night we’d uh had uh chance. Never play poker with your friends. Old man Whittaker is just as crooked as ‘Muley’ Bowles and ‘Telescope’ Tolliver.

“I holds out four eights to play against Telescope or Muley, and when I gets tired uh holding ’em I slips ’em to the old man, and gives him the sign to play ’em against Muley or Telescope. Just to illustrate how dishonest uh man can be, he plays ’em against my little full-house. Never again do I play honest poker.”

The train drifts in and the baggage-car stops just a few feet from us. It’s near dark, and we’re alone on the platform. The door slides open and out comes uh human whirlwind. He hits on the platform, skids along on his hands and knees, and comes up wailing:

“Me feex uh you! You kick uh me, eh? You kick uh Ajax! Cur-r-rse uh you!”

“Here comes your danged monkey!” yells uh voice inside the car, and out comes uh monkey as big as uh small man, and the peeved party and the monkey goes into uh clinch, and rolls over and over.

The man breaks the clinch, hops for the handle of the door, and spits like uh bobcat:

“Me feex uh you! You pay for dees! You t’row me off! Me—Pedr-r-ro Adonis Fer-r-r-retti! You t’row off uh Ajax, and call uh heem uh moonk! I sue uh you—you——”

“Ahr-r-r-r!” snorts the feller in the car, and out he comes.

I don’t reckon that Pedro is much on the fight, ’cause the minute this here party from the car hits the platform Pedro drifts around the corner like uh scared wolf. He sails off into the mesquite, and the baggage-man comes back. He grins at us, takes uh kick at the animile, and hops aboard, when the brakey signals the engineer to drift.

There ain’t nobody on the platform but me and Chuck and the monk, and the three of us looks each other over. Chuck rolls uh cigaret, and clears his throat.

“Hen,” says he, “there sets our ancestor.”

“Grandpaw Warner, I greets yuh,” says I. “I’d admire to know just what kind of uh monkey you are.”

“Moonk!” snorts uh voice behind us, and there stands Pedro. He’s some scratched up from mesquite prongs. “Ajax uh he no moonk,” he informs us. “Ajax he’s uh ape. Wonder-r-r-rful trained uh ape. Act uh like uh man, look uh like uh man. Wort’ uh hundred t’ousand dollars.”

“Mex?” asks Chuck, but Pedro shakes his head. “Naw-w-w! Italia.”

“What did yuh get off here for?” I asks.

“For?” Pedro ties his face in uh knot, shakes his fist up the track, and speaks to us in uh language that must be wonderful to cuss in.

He keeps getting more intelligible all the time, and after uh while he gets down to denatured United States:

“Me feex uh heem plenty. We play in t’eater—me and Ajax. I travel wit’ Ajax in baggage-car. Baggage-man he get uh fresh wit’ Ajax and Ajax bite uh heem. Bam! He smash uh Ajax wit’ uh valise. I get uh sore and hit uh heem wit’ both uh feests. Bam! He knock uh me steef! Whan we come uh here he t’row us off. Me feex uh heem! Me sue uh de railroad for uh meelion dollar! Me—Pedr-ro Adonis Fer-r-retti!”

“Pedro, I wish yuh many happy birthdays,” states Chuck. “Any time I hears uh man speak of uh million dollars I either want to kiss him or kill him. Uh million is uh lot uh money to speak of, ain’t it, Hen?”

“After it gets over uh dollar and eighty cents she all looks and sounds alike to me. Pedro, would yuh like uh little drink?”

I hauls out uh quart, and offers it to him.

He depletes it to the bottom of the label, and uh minute later I has to pull uh gun to keep him from kissing me. Chuck gives him uh shot out uh his bottle, and he worships us back seven generations. Chuck puts his bottle beside him on the truck, and we sings for the little feller.

“Let’s all have another—my——!” exclaims Chuck. “That ain’t no monkey—he’s uh man.”

He had reached for his bottle, but it was gone, and out on the handle uh that truck sets Ajax with the bottle to his lips.

“Drop uh dat, Ajax!” yelps the Italian, and makes uh grab for the bottle.

He was uh little too energetic in his reach, and catches his toe under that handle. Ajax dropped the bottle all right, all right. But he dropped it right on Pedro’s top-knot—

Ker-bam!

“Well, well!” grins Chuck. “I’ve knowed hooch to make uh monkey out of uh man but that’s the first reversal I ever seen. Here, Ajax, you son-of-uh-gun, quit hitting him! Can’t yuh see he don’t feel it?”

“Chee-e-e-e, chr-r-r-r-r!” says Ajax.

He reaches out one hairy paw, and pinches his boss on the seat of the pants. No response. Then he waddles over, grabs the top uh that truck and swings up beside us, where he makes faces at us and rubs his stummick.

“Have uh little smoke?” asks Chuck, and hands his cigaret to the animile.

Ajax takes the cigaret, smells of the lighted end and then puts the other end in his mouth.

“Ajax, I greets yuh as uh brother,” says Chuck, and him and that ape shakes hands like two old friends.

After he shakes with Chuck, Ajax reaches past and shakes hands with me.

Ajax then reaches over and puts his hand on the butt of Chuck’s six-shooter.

“Hairy son-of-uh-rooster!” exclaims Chuck. “Wonder if he knows what uh gun is for?”

He drops the shells out in his hand and offers the Colt to Ajax. The ape smells of the muzzle, spins the cylinder, and finally takes it in his hand just like uh man, and snaps it twice.

“Enough,” says I. “All you needs is bad associations to make uh cowpuncher out uh you, Ajax. You might lend him your chaps, Chuck. He’s got legs about as long as yours.”

“Wonder how he’d look?” laughs Chuck, and pulls off his chaps.

We has quite uh time cinching ’em up so that they fits him, but we finally made the lower half uh that animile look uh heap like Chuck Warner. We has another drink and slips uh goodly portion to the ancestor, who seems to enjoy the sensation.

“I’m going to put my shirt on him, too,” announces Chuck, and proceeds to make good.

You’d be surprised to see how human that animile looks.

“Here, be uh regular feller,” says I, and hands him my six-gun.

“My ——!” yelps Chuck. “It’s loaded! You danged fool!”

Bing! Uh bullet hits the hind wheel uh the truck and hums off down the track.

“Chee-e-e-e! Wakie, wakie, wakie!” announces Ajax.

Me and Chuck has seen and heard enough. The placid Summer atmosphere gets two holes torn in itself when me and Chuck sails off that platform, and breezes for town.

We don’t stop until we’re down back uh Mike Pelly’s saloon, where we sets down to catch our fleeting breath. Uh course Chuck has to chide me for giving Ajax that gun, and I replies that there’s one satisfaction; as soon as he shoots five more times the gun will be empty.

“That’s uh cheerful way uh looking at it,” agrees Chuck. “Let’s go around in front and see what’s doing.”

We pilgrims around in front. It’s getting dark, but the lights shine out from Mike’s palace uh sin. We looks in the window and sees “Doughgod” Smith, “Mighty” Jones, “Harelip” Hansen, “Tellurium” Woods and Mike Pelly playing poker.

That sure is uh combination that honest men ought to shun. I’d make uh little bet that there ain’t more than thirty-five cards to the deal when them hombres play together. They sure do covet extra chances.

“Want to set in?” I asks, but Chuck shakes his head and shivers.

“Not me, Hennery. Them burglars would win my undershirt and drawers. They’re likely all half-shot, and yuh can’t hardly beat that combination when they’re sober. I wish I had my——look-out, Hen! Here comes that million-dollar monk!”

I takes one look and sees Ajax. He’s got Chuck’s hat on one side of his head, and is dragging that gun behind him. We just lingers long enough to see him and then we fades around the corner. Ajax sizes up the place, tries to straighten up his hat, and then pilgrims right inside.

We slips right back and peeks in the window. Them poker players are too busy watching each other to notice the monk, who has taken uh ringside seat, with that gun across his lap like the lookout in uh stud game. He sure is an apparition, with that floppy Stetson on one side of his head and them long, hairy hands fondling that big six-gun.

Pretty soon Harelip Hansen reaches for the discards, and happens to glimpse Ajax. He stares for uh few seconds, shifts his eyes away and looks again. He nods, sort uh sad-like, and begins to shuffle the cards. Every little while he glances at Ajax, but pretty soon he seems to get uh hold on his nerves, and ignores the animile.

Doughgod drops uh card on the floor, and when he reaches for it he gets uh look at Ajax, who makes uh face at him. Him and the monk stares at each other for uh spell, and then Ajax scratches himself on the nose and tilts his hat to the other side.

Doughgod slips the card into his pocket, and passes the pot. After uh little he turns and looks at the ape, and then turns away like he was suffering uh heap inside.

“Might as well have another little drink,” announces Mike, sliding back his chair.

“Make mine sody water,” states Doughgod, and Harelip speaks right up—

“Mine, too, Mike.”

“Sody!” snorts Mike. “Drink sody water—you two?”

“Uh-huh,” nods Doughgod. “Too much whisky is bad for uh man’s nerves. I been going to taper off for uh long time, Mike.”

“Well,” laughs Mike, “If you wants sody I reckon yuh——”

Mike had stepped behind the bar and reached for the bottle, when he sees Ajax. He leans against the bar, and scratches his head with the neck of the bottle, while Ajax grins at him and tilts that hat to the other side.

Mike glances away, and then looks again. It’s still there. He sighs deep-like and hauls out three tall glasses, fills ’em with soda and then fills two glasses uh hooch.

Just then Chuck sniggers, and Mighty Jones turns his head. Mighty’s hair raises his hat about an inch when he looks into Ajax’s face. He stares at the monk for uh second, and then turns to look at the others. He glances back at Ajax and then at the tray that Mike has brought.

“Mike, bre-bre-bring me some sody, too,” he stutters. “Uh-uh-feller can’t drink whisky always and not have it react on him.”

Mike throws that glass of whisky on the floor and fills Mighty’s order. They spills uh heap uh liquor over the cards when they takes the glasses off the tray. Tellurium Woods is the only one to take whisky, and he grins at the other glasses.

“Here’s to uh man-sized drink,” he toasts. “Here’s to men who——”

A hairy paw slips across his shoulder and reaches for the glass, and Tellurium freezes plumb stiff. The rest of them gasps when they sees it, and then looks away. Doughgod yawns, reaches for the cards and begins to deal uh new hand.

Tellurium turns his head, slow-like, and looks Ajax square in the face. He stares at the monk for uh full ten seconds, and then hands him the glass. Ajax accepts it like uh gentleman, drinks the liquor, sets the glass on the table and goes back to his own chair. Tellurium looks at the empty glass, looks at the monk, and then back at the others. They ain’t paying the least bit of attention.

“Mike!” whispers Tellurium, hoarse-like. “You got any more sody?”

Doughgod is leaning back in his chair, fingering his glass, and looking at Ajax. Sudden-like he announces—

“I may be as loco as uh louse, but, by the horns on the moon I’m going to find out.”

He throws that tall glass straight at Ajax’s head.

That animile sure was trained. He just reaches up like uh baseball player and takes that glass in one hand. He smells of it, turns up his nose, and sets it beside him on the chair.

“I am!” groans Doughgod. “I absolutely, certainly am!”

“Am what?” whispers Mike. “Do you see it, Doughgod! Do yuh? Speak!”

“Do you, Mike?” whoops Mighty. “Do both of yuh see what I see?”

“Chee-e-e-e-e! Wakie, wakie, wakie!”

Bang!

Me and Chuck drops flat and lets about forty dollars’ worth uh chips sail through the window over our heads. Ajax had accidently fired that gun into Mike’s case uh chips, and she plows through uh ten-dollar jack-pot, and out through the window.

“He held openers!” gasps Chuck, and out comes them merry gamblers in uh group. We sees Tellurium’s bald head glisten in the light, as he grabs off his hat and gallops off up the street, with Harelip Hansen right behind him, whistling like uh wind-broken bronc. Mike, Doughgod and Mighty went the other way.

We peeks through the busted window, and there sets Ajax on the bar. He’s got two guns beside him, and is examining uh bottle uh soda water. It’s one uh them patent bottles that yuh got to hit against something to drive the stopper inside, and Ajax sure is stumped. He peeks through the bottle like it was uh telescope, and pretty soon he gets sore. He picks up uh gun and begins to pound that bottle all around.

Bung! The bottle busted right in his face, and what that ancestor of ours done to that saloon was uh crime. We hears the glassware hit the floor, bottles spewed all over everything, and pretty soon Ajax struts out of the door, drunk as uh fool, but still hanging on to them two guns.

“Drunk as —— and loaded for bear!” exclaims Chuck. “Reckon I better kill him.”

“Kill Ajax?” I gasps. “Kill the only living, breathing, gun-toting bunch uh delirium tremens that ever infested Paradise? Kill uh million-dollar animile, Chuck? Think how long it would take, on your salary, to pay for it.”

Chuck nods, and puts his gun back, and Ajax disappears in the dark.

“You stay here, Hen,” says Chuck. “I got to get some clothes.”

“Store is closed. Where yuh going to get some?”

“You wait: I’ll get some.”

He ducks around the corner, and in about fifteen minutes he’s back. I looks him over as careful as I can, and inquires the name uh his tailor.

“Ajax’s boss loaned ’em to me,” he states. “He’s too drunk to care so I helped myself. I left mine. How do they fit?”

They didn’t. Chuck is built like uh ordinary man with his legs sawed off. The upper part of his body must uh took the growth away from his legs, ’cause from his waist on up he’s the longest in captivity, but from his waist on down he ain’t much to speak of. He buys ordinary length uh chaps and cuts ’em off at the knee.

Can you imagine uh form like his wearing uh thirty-six coat? Can yuh also imagine uh long, Roman-nosed face looking out from under uh little green derby hat? The cuffs uh that coat comes just to his elbows, and he looks at me, with that long lock uh hair streaming down over his forehead from under that little green hat, and has the nerve to ask me how he looks. He wiggles his ears when he asks the question.

“Chuck,” says I, “you ain’t far removed from your ancestor. You look like uh bull moose in uh bathing-suit. I’d opine that Pedro Adonis Feretti would look like what you do if somebody cut off his legs and fed him uh barrel uh yeast-cakes. They don’t fit yuh, Chuck, but they partly covers your shame.”

“Has the Darwin theory killed anybody yet?” he asks.

“All I’ve heard is one shot since you left,” says I.

“When that sleeping Adonis loaned me his clothes he forgot to remove his roll,” states Chuck. “Some folks is careless that-away. Let’s go down to Dug’s and set into the game.”

We pilgrims almost to Dug’s place when we hears voices raised in anger, and we recognizes Muley Bowles and Telescope Tolliver talking to old man Whittaker.

“Aw, Chuck wouldn’t do uh thing like that,” argues the old man.

“He did!” yelps Muley. “I tell yuh he took uh shot at me. Don’t I know that hombre? No, he didn’t hit me but he scared my bronc so bad that he pitched me off in the road.”

“I seen him, too,” states Telescope. “There ain’t no argument.”

“Well, what yuh going to do?” asks the old man. “Going to tell the sheriff?”

“Sheriff ——!” snorts Muley. “Not me! I’ll show that mule-faced Jasper where to head in at. Danged little sawed-off imitation of uh man!”

“Maybe he’s still thinking of how yuh got that extra ace last night,” suggests the old man.

“Maybe,” agrees Muley, sarcastic-like.

“I’d love to play one more game uh bottle pool before his funeral,” states Telescope, and the three of them goes inside.

Me and Chuck sets there on the rack and smokes in silence.

“You ain’t got no cause for alarm,” says I, after uh while. “Muley is looking for Chuck Warner, so uh specimen like you is safe. You look about as much like yourself as——”

“More pilgrims,” says Chuck, and we hears somebody hurrying up the street.

When he hits the light we sees Bill McFee, sheriff, and just as he gets in front of the saloon Muley and Weinie Lopp comes out. They greets Bill, and we hears Bill ask—

“Say, you fellers know whose gun this is?”

They appears to be looking at something and we hears Muley state:

“Sure. That’s Hen Peck’s gun. See that ten-cent piece in the handle?”

“It was throwed through my office window,” states Bill. “It sure spoiled uh good piece uh glass. It’s still got three loaded shells in it.”

“What would Hen smash your window for?” asks Weinie.

“I don’t think he did,” states Bill. “I hopped outside just in time to see uh person duck around the corner. I opines that it’s——”

“Chuck Warner,” says Muley.

“How’d you know?” asks Bill, and Muley laughs. “Huh! That’s nothing. He took uh shot at me this evening. Him and Hen are together, and I wouldn’t trust either one of them.”

“Well!” says Bill, surprised-like. “I reckon we better put uh jail around them two,” and then the three of ’em goes inside.

“Hen,” pronounces Chuck, “some day you’ll hear about uh train being held up, and the baggageman killed, and you’ll know that I’m getting even for this entertainment. Just you wait until I gets my hands on that ances—he cometh!”

Here comes Ajax. He’s still got that hat cocked over his ear, and he sets there in the light and scratches his ribs with the barrel of uh six-gun.

“My ——!” whispers Chuck. “I wish that gun would go off. Here, Ajax. Hyah, boy. Come here.”

Ajax hears the whispered summons and waddles over towards us. When he gets in front of us Chuck slides to the ground.

“Nice old Ajax,” croons Chuck. “How yuh feel, eh? Nice old apie. That’s the stuff. Let me have them clothes and that nasty gun, and we’ll give yuh uh nice little drink. Hen, come on down and help me take these clothes off.”

I slides down, although uh still, small voice tells me to set right up there on the rack.

“Here. Pull off the shirt,” commands Chuck. I reaches down and takes Ajax by the hand. Never do uh thing like that. Never shake hands with an ape. I thought for uh second that I’d caught my fingers in uh door, and he yanks me so hard that I loses my feet, and down we goes—me on top uh Chuck and him on the monk.

We hold him for just three ticks of uh watch, and then we don’t. I loses the whole back out uh my vest, and gets my shirt-tail pulled up around my ears. When I gets settled I finds that Ajax is gone. Chuck sets there on the ground and blinks in the dark, while I finds his little hat and puts it back on his head.

“Did yuh get that gun?” I asks.

He feels himself over for uh minute and then wails in uh hoarse whisper:

“Gee cripes! He’s got my gun, too. What do yuh—dang his hairy hide, he got that money! Pocket and all gone!”

“He’ll likely kill somebody,” says I.

“We won’t mind,” wails Chuck. “We’ll either be dead or in jail, so it won’t make much difference.”

Just then Mike Pelly and Doughgod comes across the street, and when they’re almost to Dug’s out comes Bill McFee and four or five punchers.

“Hey, Bill!” yells Mike. “We been looking for yuh. Somebody busted up my poker game and scared thunder out of all of us. Took uh shot at my chip rack and then wrecked the place.”

“Who was it?” asks Bill. “Didn’t yuh see them?”

“Well,” says Mike. “We did and didn’t. There was five of us, but no two of us saw it alike. Harelip and Tellurium left town right away.”

“What yuh been drinking?” asks Bill.

“Sody water,” replies Mike, short-like. Bill laughs.

“Was it Chuck Warner?” asks somebody.

“Now that yuh mentions it,” orates Doughgod, slow-like, “I sort uh seem to recognize that blue shirt and—say, how long has Chuck been away from uh razor? This one needs uh shave.”

“You ought to know him well enough to recognize him,” states Telescope’s voice. “I knowed him the minute I seen him shoot at Muley. All I got was uh flash in the dark, but yuh can’t fool me. I know every line uh that hombre.”

Yuh might as well argue with uh bobcat as to disagree with Telescope Tolliver, so nobody says uh word.

“I don’t want him jailed,” states Muley. “No danged man can bushwhack me and get away with it.”

That’s the first time I ever seen Muley sore. There’s too much fat on his carcass to allow him to get above normal. He’s so heavy that he bends uh bronc all out uh shape, but there’s one thing he can do to the queen’s taste, and that is to recite poetry. It’s all original, too.

“He’s uh ungrateful cow thief!” states Muley, and then he recites:

“I loved him like uh brother,

And I shared with him my bed.

I gave him half of everything,

Now he tries to shoot me dead.

He’d bite the hand what fed him.

He’s worser than the worst.

I’ll kill that horse-faced hombre,

If he don’t kill me first.”

“Well,” opines Weinie Lopp, “I don’t know how Chuck looks at it, Muley, but I’d uh heap rather have yuh on my trail than on my conscience or on my lap.”

“Poetry don’t get yuh no place but in the loco lodge,” observes Bill. “We got to land them two. I don’t know what we can jail Hen for unless it’s for being in bad company. Muley, you and Telescope will help us, won’t yuh?”

“Not,” states Muley. “If you got him you’d put him in jail. No man can shoot at me and——”

“The majesty of the law must be upheld,” states Bill.

“You hold it then,” says Muley. “Telescope, let’s go and finish that game uh pool.”

They goes back inside, and McFee and his noble pack goes down the street toward Bill’s office.

“Chuck, I can hear my maw calling me,” says I. “She always told me to keep out uh bad company. You’re uh nervy cuss to throw your gun—or rather my gun—through the sheriff’s window. Horse-faced hombre! Muley sure hankers for your gore, Mister Warner.”

Chuck grunts and rolls uh smoke.

“I’d opine that we better go home,” says I. “Maybe you hankers for hemp, but I don’t. Old man Peck’s little sunshine wasn’t born to be party of the first part in uh lynching bee.”

“Shut up!” snaps Chuck. “Here comes some more peevish persons.”

They’re talking some excited-like, and as they comes closer we recognizes Mike Pelly and Doughgod. They’re bareheaded and seem to be mussed up uh bit. Old man Whittaker and Hank Padden meets ’em at the door, just as some of the posse rides up.

“Don’t stutter, Mike,” advises Hank. “Collect your thoughts, and don’t let your voice jump so many hurdles.”

“Collect ——!” howls Mike. “Is everybody gone loco? Is Chuck Warner uh human being? Muley!” he yelps, before anybody has uh chance to answer him. “Muley, was that Chuck what took uh shot at you, and was he wearing uh blue shirt? Has his sombrero got uh snake-skin band on it?”

“You described him, Mike,” agrees Muley. “What’s he done now?”

Mike holds something up to the light, and they all looks at it.

“That’s his hat-band,” states Telescope. “I helped him skin that snake. Fifteen rattles and uh button. That’s his.”

“You seen it, too, didn’t yuh, Doughgod?” asks Mike, like he wasn’t sure of his own eyesight.

Doughgod replies that he certainly did see all of it.

“What did he do?” howls Bill. “What yuh trying to do—keep uh secret from the law?”

“Dang you and your law!” yelps Mike. “Listen: when me and Doughgod goes back to my place, we finds Mighty Jones and he goes with us. The three of us enters my place, and there on the pool table sets—what set on the table, Doughgod?”

“You’re speaking fluently, Mike,” stated Doughgod. “Go on.”

“Well,” continues Mike, “he was setting there on that table. It ain’t very light in there, but we sees him tip up uh bottle and take uh shot. Now you ain’t going to believe this, but it’s true as Gospel: he sets himself and jumps plumb from the table over to the top of the bar! Twelve feet if it’s uh inch!”

“Twelve feet ain’t uh world’s record,” says Weinie Lopp. “Once I jumped——”

“‘Get him!’ says I to Doughgod,” continues Mike, “and we makes uh rush at him.”

“But we didn’t get him,” finishes Doughgod. “He jumps right up on top uh Mike’s mirror, sails from there over to Mike’s swinging-lamp, like uh circus acrobat. He just swings once, and down comes that lamp right on my head. He lands on uh table, and slips outdoors.”

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Mike. “Doughgod went outdoors with us, and he’s got the handle uh that lamp still around his neck.”

“Then what?” asks Bill.

“Then, we’re desperate,” states Mike. “We jumps right into him. I lost my suspenders, and all I got was that hat-band. He went right up the corner uh that building like it was uh ladder. When he gets to the top he tears loose that heavy beer sign and drops it right into our midst. I don’t know where he went from there.”

“Did Mighty Jones see this?” asks Hank Padden. “I’d admire to hear Mighty tell us about it. He’s honest. Where is he, Mike?”

“He’s under that beer sign.”

Uh course it struck me and Chuck so funny that we both has to snicker right out loud, and right then we becomes the center of interest—or yuh might say the apex. There didn’t seem to be many places to go, but we sure went where there was to go. With that posse right on our trail we sure did cover territory. We ducked around that town like uh pair uh scared rabbits until we ain’t got enough wind left to fill uh toy balloon. Pretty soon we ducks behind some boxes back uh Dug’s place, and lets the posse drift past.

“I-I-I got uh-uh-uh-scheme,” pants Chuck. “Huh-huh-here’s uh ladder. We’ll get on the roof.”

I saves my breath for climbing, so don’t reply. The ladder barely reaches the eaves, when it’s almost perpendicular, but that don’t alarm us. We climb that ladder close together until we gets to the top. I’m in the rear, and when Chuck stops I has to.

“Go on up!” I whispers, when he starts to climb down into me, but he turns his head and hisses down at me:

“Look out! Ajax!”

And just then something grabs the top uh that ladder, gives it uh heave, and over we goes.

When I gets my strength back I hear the posse coming back, so we gets up and starts out again.

“Hen,” he states, “we’d make better time if we left the ladder. No use in trying to make uh getaway yoked up like oxen.”

We sheds the ladder and sneaks around to the hitch-rack. We’re going to get our broncs and go home, but there ain’t uh bronc left at the rack, and we hears Muley state—

“They won’t go far without their horses, that’s uh cinch, so we’ll just keep ’em under cover until we lands them miscreants.”

“What yuh got in your hand?” I asks Chuck. “You ain’t going to hit anybody with uh rock are yuh?”

“That’s my hat. Somebody must uh kicked the brim all off, ’cause she sure looks like half an egg right now, Hen. I hope they don’t lay me out in these clothes.”

“What’s to be done now?” I inquires.

“I got uh good idea, Hen. We’ll go back to the depot, and I’ll take my clothes—what there is of ’em—off that drunk Italian. Then I’ll put ’em on, go boldly into the saloon, and tell ’em that I been kidnaped by uh wild man what stole my shirt, hat and chaps. Ain’t that uh good scheme?”

“Come on,” says I. “Good or bad it ain’t no worse than the fix we’re in now.”

But the Italian ain’t there. All we finds is uh empty bottle and plenty uh silence. We sets down on the truck and rolls cigarets.

“You still got your boots,” says I, after uh while. “Suppose yuh takes off the rest of the clothes, and goes in that-away. It makes the play just the same.”

“I’ll take off my rainbow raiment, Hen, but I’ll be hanged if I take off my underclothes. Here, hold these glad garments, Hen.”

He proceeds to take ’em off until he’s shivering in the breeze. We sneaks up to Dug’s back door, and everything is as peaceful as can be.

“Let me go around alone, Hen,” says he. “I’ll tell ’em that you’re out hunting for me. Sabe? After uh little while you come in all out uh breath.”

I sets there for uh while. When I decides it’s time to make the play, I runs plumb around the town to get winded, and then I runs right into the place. Chuck is setting on the bar, replacing the cork in uh bottle, and he’s all alone.

“Where’s all the folks?” I asks.

“What I want to know is what are yuh going to do with them clothes, Hen?” he remarks. “I told yuh to hold ’em—not retain ’em.”

I realizes just then that I’m still hanging on to them Italian garments, and I throws ’em under uh card table. Just as I reaches over and takes the bottle from Chuck I happens to glance in the mirror, and I sees the back door begin to open. Inch by inch she comes open, and in comes uh six-shooter followed by uh hand.

I sets plumb silent, and next comes uh face like uh harvest moon, which I recognizes as being Muley’s. Muley looks about as ferocious as uh milk-cheese, and if I didn’t know he had murder in his heart I’d uh laughed right out.

As it was I felt uh vacant spot in my stummick, and when I tries to clear my throat, easy-like, it sounds like uh novice fussing with the E string of uh fiddle.

“Wow!”

Chuck turned his head toward the glass, saw what I was staring at, and he simply ducks his head and twists plumb under that table like uh prairie-dog dodging uh bullet. I followed suit. At least I did it as near like Chuck as possible, but I lands on the back of my neck and sprains myself all the way down to my toes.

“Yah-h-h!” whoops Muley. “Yuh will try to murder me, will yuh!”

He trots toward our end of the table, and when I cranes my neck to look at Chuck I sees uh fair sight. Chuck has grabbed the bridge yuh use in making uh pool shot that yuh can’t reach with your arms, and he shoves it out and between Muley’s legs as he trots past.

I sees Muley’s boots leave the floor, and land. His gun goes spinning off across the floor, with me right on its trail. I sets up on the bar and rubs my aching neck.

Chuck crawls on top of the table and grins down at Muley, who makes uh few groans and sets up. He feels of his head from several angles and looks around.

“Chuck, you’re uh ornery pup,” states Muley, in uh tired voice. “Honest, you’re uh danged yaller pup.”

“You ain’t got no right to talk about pups, Muley,” grins Chuck. “You’re uh regular Injun assassin, you are: sneaking up on two defenseless persons like me and Henry. You savage!”

“Well, go on and kill me,” wails Muley, noticing that I got his gun in my hand.

“Whom me and Chuck would destroy we first makes fairly drunk,” says I, hauling out the bottle. “Have uh little shot?”

“That’s my choice uh weapons,” states Muley, getting slowly and painfully to his feet. “What did yuh shoot at me for, Chuck? What yuh running around in your drawers that away for? Why don’t——”

Muley stops and we all listens. Down the street comes yelps and shots, and the rattle of horses running. We races for the door to see what’s going on, and I find out. I’m in the lead and just as I hits the door I meets Ajax. He’s lost all his clothes and his good nature, and he goes through my legs like uh hounded wolf. I lights setting down, just in time to feel the loop of uh rope whip around my arms, and the next second I’m lifted off the porch, and down the road I goes, sliding and bumping on the end of uh rope.

Part uh me is broiled to uh turn when the race ends, and I loosens the loop. I’m sort of fatigued over the whole thing, and I sort uh lolls in the dust until Telescope Tolliver lights uh match over my recumbent form.

“My ——!” says he.

“Henry Clay Peck,” I corrects him.

“What you doing here, Hen?” he gasps. “Where’d you come from?”

“You ought to know,” I snaps right back at him. “We started at the same time. What did yuh think was on your rope?”

“Chuck. I thought I caught Chuck Warner.”

“Poor Chuck,” says I. “Ain’t he been through enough tonight without you wanting to drag him to death?”

“What hard luck?” asks Telescope.

“Didn’t yuh hear about the wild man? Ain’t yuh seen him, Telescope?”

“Henry,” says he, “this ain’t no time to lie about things.”

“This ain’t no lie,” says I. “Chuck runs into this wild person out back uh Dug’s. It knocks him down, takes his clothes, and poor Chuck has been wandering around in the cold ever since. I been hunting for him, and when I finds him we goes down to Dug’s, and Muley sneaks in behind us and tries to kill us both. Is everybody loco tonight?”

“Gosh! I told ’em that it wasn’t Chuck,” he declares. “That thing was too active for Chuck. We was chasing it when I roped you, Hen. Didn’t you see it?”

“I didn’t see nothing,” says I. “Me and Chuck have been wronged.”

“Get on behind me,” says he. “This bronc will carry double.”

“I’ll walk,” I replies. “I been setting down too much lately.”

We manages to pilgrim back to Dug’s, and worms our way inside. Seems like everybody in Paradise is in there. We claws our way to the center, where the argument is the thickest, and there we sees Chuck Warner, half his underclothes missing, standing there with uh rope around his neck. Everybody is asking questions, cussing, and telling what they’d do under them circumstances.

“Take this rope off my neck!” demands Chuck. “I ain’t done nothing.”

“You danged near killed me,” proclaims Mighty Jones from where he sets on the bar, and adjusts uh bandage around his head.

“You’ve done uh plenty, young feller,” states Bill McFee. “I reckon that when Muley Bowles gets conscious again we’ll find out some more things against yuh.”

“Did Muley get hurt?” yelps Telescope, and the crowd parts to let us in where Muley is laid out on the pool table.

Muley’s got uh sweet look on his lips, and while we gazes on his beauty his lips move and he whispers this rime:

“The pale old moon is shining bright,

On meadows where the violets lay.

The icebergs glimmer in the light,

’Tis Springtime, love, the first uh May.

The sheeplets gambol on the grass,

The black bear sleeps and sucks his paw,

The blizzard sweeps along the pass.

It’s the warmest Summer I ever saw.”

“Muley,” says Telescope, removing his hat, reverent-like, “you must uh been hit awful hard to mulligan up the calendar thataway.”

Dug Chaffin horns his way in and pours some hooch into Muley’s mouth. Muley lets that glass uh poison trickle down his throat, licks his lips and sets up.

“Huh!” he snorts, looking at the assemblage. “What seems to be the big idea—waking uh feller up at this time uh—say, where did the blame thing go?”

“What blame thing?” asks somebody.

“Goriller,” states Muley. “Danged old hairy goriller.”

Bill McFee turns to the crowd and shrugs.

“I’m uh liar if I know what to think. We chased what we thought was Chuck Warner all over town. We lost him over by the depot and has to pesticate uh lot before we gets him uh going again. Hang Padden’s wolf hound got on the track, too, and lost most of his tail. If that thing didn’t have on Chuck’s clothes I’ll eat my boots.”

“I told yuh we was wrong, Bill,” states Weinie Lopp. “When we got on the trail the second time I distinctly saw Chuck or somebody with Chuck’s clothes on, duck behind the depot. We follered something, but what was it?”

“Maybe we follered Hen Peck,” offers Doughgod.

“Hen was right here,” states Muley. “You fellers wasn’t chasing neither Chuck or Hen, ’cause they was right here laughing at me all the time.”

“What was they laughing at you for?” asks Bill.

“I-I-I—they was laughing at me for tripping gaily over the bridge.”

“Never mind him—he’s been hit too hard to be serious,” remarks Bill McFee, holding up that Italian’s clothes. “What I want to know is—who wears clothes like these? I found ’em under that card table. Who do they belong to, eh?”

“Dats uh my uh suit. Geev uh to me, you sonn-of-uh-gonn! You tak uh my Ajax! You break uh my heart—I break uh you head!”

There before us stands Pedro Adonis Feretti, with tears in his eyes and murder in his heart. He’s got what’s left uh Chuck’s clothes on, and as he makes his oration he whales away at Bill’s head with uh rock as big as his fist.

Bill ducks and the rock smashes right into Dug’s mirror and bounces down behind the bar, but it don’t thump when it hits—just makes sort of uh chug.

“Chee-e-e-e-e! Wakie, wakie, wakie!” comes uh voice from behind the bar.

Up comes two hairy hands, grips the top of the bar, and Ajax is before us. He rubs the side of his head and makes faces at us.

“Coom uh, Ajax,” croons Pedro, and then he starts an oration in that foreign lingo.

Ajax listens, serious-like for uh while, scratches his stummick, and slips off the bar.

He seems undecided for uh minute and then walks over and shakes hands, solemn-like, with Chuck. He takes hold of Pedro’s hand and them two went out of our lives forever. They took them speckled clothes. There ain’t uh word said for some time after they’re gone. Every one is busy with their own thoughts, and Chuck slips the rope off his neck and sighs deep-like.

“Gentlemen,” says he, “there goes your ancestor.”

“Darwin said that man came after monkey,” observes Telescope.

“If they didn’t come any nearer to getting him than we did we sure ain’t closely related to ’em,” says Bill McFee.

“It sure strikes me that the Warner tribe ain’t progressed much,” states Muley. “Looking at that animile and Chuck I’m forced to sing yuh these few lines:

“If punchers sprung from monkeys
They hadn’t far to spring.
For all the difference I can see
Is in the character of the thing.
If uh monkey took Chuck Warner’s job,
It’s uh cinch he could qualify
In everything that Chuck can do,
Except to tell uh lie.”

“You poeted some truth that time, Muley,” laughs Mike. “He called that monkey Ajax but it ought to uh been Climax.”

“Ajax was uh Greek,” states old Judge Steele, wise-like. “He was supposed to be uh hy-iu scrapper. It is said that he defied the lightning.”

“Did he get away with it?” asks Mighty Jones, fussing with his bandage. “His namesake sure could. He brought the Milky Way down to old man Jones’ oldest son.”

“Say, is Chuck Warner here?” inquires Abe Mallory, the station agent, from the doorway.

He catches sight uh Chuck, and holds out some clothes in his hand.

“Here’s something for yuh, Chuck. Uh crazy-looking Italian shoved ’em in my window uh while ago, and yells something about giving ’em back. I knowed they’re yours on account of the chaps. That shirt looks like it had been monkeyed with.”

“I thank yuh,” says Chuck. “Monkeyed with is right. It’s uh good thing them chaps were made uh——”

Chuck runs his finger down in one chap’s pocket, and hauls out uh roll uh bills. He looks foolish-like at me and then shoves ’em down in his pocket.

“Where’d yuh get the roll, Chuck?” asks Muley. “Does all that legal tender belong to you?”

“Nope,” grins Chuck, wiggling his ears. “The man that owns it has left town, and I can’t give it back to him, so I reckon it’s what you’d call—uh—uh—ancestral rights. I’m un honest man, and if that little Italian ever shows up I’ll have it for him. I’d admire to buy us all uh little drink out of the interest.”

“I’ll take sody water,” states Mighty.

“Sody water!” yelps Dug. “Who wants to drink sody water at uh time like this?”

“I do,” declares Mighty. “I drinks it once in self-defense, and now I wants to drink uh toast to——”

“Pedro Adonis Feretti,” finishes Chuck. “I might of said to drink to Ajax, Mighty, but I’ve found out that it don’t pay to monkey with your ancestors.”

Transcriber’s Note

This story appeared in Adventure Magazine, June 18, 1918. It is believed to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.

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Table of Contents

- MONKEYING WITH ANCESTORS

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE