The King of Gee-Whiz

By EMERSON HOUGH

HE wagons of the Quivera cow-outfit came into Arroyo City with a requisition for all the loose .44-caliber ammunition that could be bought, begged, or commandeered under plea of urgent necessity. The owners of the two general stores burrowed through their stocks from top to bottom, and even the sheriff’s office contributed a few boxes; but still the foreman growled at the insufficiency.

“There’s more’n five thousand sheep in that bunch that has just crossed the Nogales,” said he, “and we’ve got to kill ’em, every one. Do you suppose my men is goin’ to take to clubs, like Digger Injuns?”

The storekeepers could only shrug their shoulders. There had always been ammunition in Arroyo City sufficient for all social purposes. No one had anticipated sheep. The Pecos Plateau had been sacred ground, and it was unsupposable that it could ever be desecrated by the trampling hoofs and scissor-noses of these woolly abominations. Grumbling, the foreman rode away with his wagons, surrounded by his group of be-Winchestered cow-punchers.

It was two days before they returned. When they did so, two of the men were not in their saddles, but at the bottom of a wagon. Beside them, bucked up and bound, lay a strange and long-haired figure, at which the foreman occasionally looked back with a gaze of mingled curiosity and respect.

It appeared that Quivera cow-honor had been maintained. The five thousand sheep had been rounded up in a box-canon, and scrupulously killed to the last item, while two herders had been sent westward in fright such as might have warranted euchre upon their coat-tails. Beyond that, however, there had been a hitch in the proceedings. This man, now prisoner, had been presumptuous enough to make a stand against the lords of the earth! Arroyo City, confident that the Quivera foreman knew his business, asked few questions as it gathered about the wagon and gazed at the silent captive.

He was a singular-looking man, tall, lean, sinewy, with a high, thin nose and a square chin which seemed not in keeping with his calling. His left nostril was indented by a scar, which ran across his cheek, and one ear was notched well-nigh as deeply as that of a calf at a spring branding.

“This feller,” said Doc Williams, “looks like he come from Arkansas.”

“Maybe so,” said the foreman. “Anyhow, he shot up two of my boys and killed a horse for us before we could get to him. We was out of ammunition—I told you we didn’t have enough. After we killed the woollies and run off them two herders, we rid on up the cañon. There was him, a-settin’ in the door of his ole Kentucky home, with a Winchester that’d go off—which it stands to reason couldn’t of happened if he was a real sheep-herder. I can’t figger him out.”

“He ain’t sayin’ a word,” said Doc Williams.

“He’s happy enough without. He was livin’ like a lord there in his shack—four hundred paper-back novels, a keg of whisky and a tin cup, and a lot of funny snuff that we throwed out; which was the only thing he hollered over.”

Doc Williams’s face assumed a certain look of professional conviction as he gazed steadily at that of the man recumbent in the wagon. The latter smiled up at him amiably. His bonds were presently loosened, and a moment later he might properly have been called the prisoner at the bar, for Arroyo City was catholic in its hospitality. The newcomer, however, was not content. He edged over toward Doc Williams and spoke some whispered words. Williams nodded, and presently departed, to return with a package which he handed to the prisoner. A peaceful smile dawned upon the face of the latter.

“I’m awfully obliged to you, old fellow,” said he, “awfully obliged”; and he helped himself.

“Oh, you’ve got some more of his snuff,” said the foreman. “I know. It’s ‘hop’! Sheep, ‘hop,’ and whisky! With that for a life and them for a steady diet, I don’t believe our friend here’d lasted more’n about thirty years more. How’re you feelin’ now?” This to the captive, who by this time was leaning back against the wall in his chair, the central figure in what every one knew was to be some sort of preliminary examination.

“Much better,”said the prisoner. “Thank you awfully. I was beginning to feel deucedly seedy, you know.”

“I’d like to know,” said the foreman, “what in you’re doing in here, anyhow. Where’d you come from? Where’ve you been?”

A half-humorous smile came to the face of the captive.

“You seem not to know a Sandhurst man, gentlemen, when you see one,” said he.

“I said he was from Arkansas,” remarked Doc Williams.

“No foolin’, now, young feller,” said the foreman, frowning. “You may have more trouble than you’re lookin’ for. What’s your name?”

“I really forget my first name,” replied the prisoner blandly but not discourteously. “Of late I have been addressed customarily as the King of Gee-Whiz.”

“Well, King,” said the foreman grimly, “you’d better turn loose and tell us your sad story about as brief as you know how.”

“Very gladly,” said the other, “very gladly. You seem a good sort, and you fought fair. I’ll tell you the absolute truth.

“I came from England originally, and not from Arkansas, as my friend supposes, although I don’t know where Arkansas is, I’m sure. I was long in the British Army or Navy, I can’t remember which. I’m quite sure it was one or the other, possibly both.”

“I wouldn’t kid too much, friend,” said the foreman, warningly.

“I beg pardon?”

“Drop the foolishness!”

“You misunderstand me. I’m sure,” said the King of Gee-Whiz. “At that time it was quite customary, indeed very fashionable, for young gentlemen to belong both to the Army and to the Navy. Now, I remember with perfect distinctness that I shipped before the mast on Her Majesty’s submarine, the Equator.”

Doc Williams drew a long breath. “A submarine ain’t got no mast,” said he. “It crawls on the bottom of the ocean.”

“Don’t mind him, friend,” said the foreman. “He come from the short-grass country of Kansas, an’ he don’t know a submarine from a muley cow. Go on, King.”

“As I was saying,” remarked the latter, frowning in annoyance, “I shipped before the mast on Her Majesty’s submarine, the Equator, Captain Harry Oglethorpe commanding—a great friend of mine and a deucedly brave and clever fellow. I knew him well before I got so deucedly down on my luck. But what was I saying?”

“About submarines?”

“Ah, yes! I remember we left Portsmouth Harbor the 12th of August, 1357. It seemed a grueling hard thing to us, to sail just at the opening of the shooting-season, but the Wuzzies were troubling a bit; and Britons never will be slaves.”

“He’s getting mixed,” said the foreman. “Doc, feed him some more. What’d you expect of a country that ain’t got no Fourth of July?”

The narrator frowned icily at this, but went on:

“As I was saying, we sailed for a great distance, all the time, of course, quite at the bottom of the sea, among the rocks and most extr’or’nary fishes—all that sort of thing—most extr’or’nary, I assure you. I frequently call to mind, even yet, some of those fishes—pink, blue, green, with most extr’or’narv’ bulging eyes.

“One day, as Sir Harry and I were sitting on deck before the mast, having a cigarette”

“At the bottom of the sea—on deck!” gasped Doc Williams involuntarily.

“Pray don’t interrupt me, or I’ll never get on,” chided the King of Gee-Whiz, politely frowning again. “We were smoking, as I said, after dinner. It was a most pleasant afternoon, and I remember distinctly looking toward the east and seeing the sun sinking in a series of most remarkable purple clouds. You will observe we were now in the tropical regions. I was remarking to Sir Harry that we were having a very good voyage over, when, as he turned to reply, an orderly rode up to us and saluted.”

“Rode—rode—rode up!” murmured Doc Williams, uncertainly.

“Let him alone,” said the foreman. “Didn’t he say he couldn’t remember whether he was in the Army or the Navy? The horse goes.”

“The orderly saluted,” resumed the King of Gee-Whiz, “and said he: ‘I beg pardon, but the officer of the day presents his compliments, and begs to report that the ship’s afire, sir, and upon the point of exploding.’

“Sir Harry looked at his watch. ‘Thanks,’ said he. ‘Present my compliments to the officer of the day, and ask how long it will be before the explosion occurs.’

“‘I beg pardon,’ replied the orderly, ‘but the officer of the day presents his compliments, and begs to say that the explosion will occur in about three minutes.’

“‘Very well,’ said Sir Harry, ‘you may go. That will give us time to finish our cigarettes,’ said he to me. The orderly saluted and rode away. We never saw him again.

“The officer of the day was a very accurate man, very accurate indeed. In three minutes to the dot the explosion did occur. We never knew what caused it. No doubt the Admiralty Board determined it, but we were not present at the session.

“The explosion was most violent, and no doubt the submarine was quite destroyed by it. Sir Harry and I were blown to an extr’or’nary distance from the spot. I remember saying to him as we reached the surface and started upward, that it seemed quite too bad that we’d not had time to get together our personal kit for the journey.

“It’s no use my mentioning how long we traveled thus, for I’m not in the least clear about it myself. All I can say is that in course of time we descended, and that we found ourselves on solid ground, on the island of Gee-Whiz. That, you’ll understand, was an uncharted and hitherto undiscovered land, bang near the 400th parallel west of London—and somewhere below Sumatra—several weeks’ march from Calcutta, I should say. We’d never seen the place nor heard of it, but were jolly well pleased to find it, under the circumstances. Of the rest of the ship’s company we never heard.

“You may fancy the situation! As it was, Sir Harry and I were obliged to make the best of it. We concluded to remain and to take possession of the region in the name of Her British Majesty.”

“That’s the most natural part of your story,” said Doc Williams with conviction.

“Thank you. But I must tell you of the complications which now arose. You will see that all these people were sun-worshipers, or something of the sort, and they’d a beastly unpleasant habit, you know, of offering up a sacrifice now and again to appease the spirits, or the like. We learned they’d a valley of gold hidden away somewhere back in the island, and from this the king got all his gold, though even under these circumstances, not as much as he wanted at all times. He’d the troubles of most royal families.

“The ruler of this golden valley was some sort of princess, and she was downright niggardly with her money, as some of these heiresses are, you know. She’d promise the king to bring him an apronful of gold if he’d give her a sacrifice to offer up, but he’d no way of providing an offering. For years no one had come in the line of a sacrifice, excepting ourselves. You can imagine the situation this created. The king wanted to sacrifice us, one or both, directly. The princess, who, by the way, was a regular ripper in her way, was quite gone on Sir Harry, and he on her as well. At this point my own personal fortunes were much involved, as you may understand.

“Sir Harry explained that, while he wished to be quite the gentleman about it, and accord me every courtesy, he’d be obliged if I’d be the sacrifice, and leave him to represent Her Majesty in the new territory. We talked it over a bit, but came to no conclusion over the matter. It was at this time that one of the most remarkable portions of our experience occurred. But, I say, fellows, couldn’t you do a B. & S. for a fellow who is deucedly down on his luck? I’m dry as a fish, that I am.”

“If whisky and water’ll do you any good,” said Billy Hudgens, proprietor of the Lone Star, “I’ll have to go you.”

“Thank you very much.” replied the prisoner, gulping eagerly. “Thank you.

“Now, as I was saying,” he went on, “one morning Sir Harry and I were standing in front of our residence in our part of the island, talking over matters. Sir Harry was taking a bath in a wash-hand-

“What’s that?” asked the foreman.

“I reckon he means a wash-pan,” explained Billy Hudgens.

“At least, Sir Harry was making a deuce of a row with the soap, and he’d a wash-hand-basin quite full of bubbles. Just then the King of Gee-Whiz came by and chanced to notice the bubbles. You should have seen his expression!

“You must remember he’d never seen a bit of soap in all his life; no one who has been without it—like the king and myself—can tell what that means. He was completely infatuated with the bubbles. In short, he valued them, at once, far more than all the gold in the valley; and he wound up by telling us flat that so long as we could make bubbles for him, there would be no sacrifice. He commanded us to appear before him every day and make these bubbles—Sir Harry showed him how to do it with his pipe—every morning and afternoon.

“After he’d gone, Sir Harry and I looked at each other. ‘It’s death or bubbles,’ said he to me. I pointed out to him that it was either death or no bath. He was much shocked. Evidently the thing could not go on, for our soap was already very near exhausted. Sir Harry was a sad dog. Said he to me: ‘While there is soap there is life,’ meaning to say, you see, that while there was life there was hope, ha, ha!”

“Leave that out,” said the foreman. “Go on.”

“Precisely. Things went thus for a week, and Sir Harry and I were most uneasy over the situation. It was at this time there occurred a shipwreck which saved our lives.”

“Sometimes,” said Billy Hudgens, sotto voce, “it does seem like this feller is tangled permanent in his mental works. He gits everything wrong end to.”

The narrator looked at him reprovingly, but resumed:

“There went ashore on the island the private yacht of a gentleman whom we found to be Sir Isaac Morgenstern, of London. He was a retired soap-maker, of wealth and station, and was on a voyage to Samoa with his daughter, his household servants, and the like. He’d with him, as chaplain, a missionary, William Cook, a person of very fat habit of body.

“When the boat went ashore, Sir Isaac, his daughter, Miss Sophie, her maid, a Miss Eckstrom, Mr. Cook, and one or two others were saved, together with certain of their effects—an auto-car or so, a piano, a harp, some books, pictures, and a number of other items which made our life much pleasanter for the time.

“The king, by this time, was becoming most annoying again about his sacrifices. Sir Harry was a sad dog. ‘Sacrifice Morgenstern,’ said he, ‘he’s to sacrifice.’ You see, in the retail business”

“Never mind about that,” said the foreman sternly. “What happened?”

“A great many things happened. For one thing, the death of Sir Isaac.”

“How come that?” asked the foreman.

By this time, it need not be said, all Arroyo City was crowded in and around the Lone Star. The late prisoner was distinctly in command of the situation, and any man who at that moment would have suggested his removal, by hanging, deportation, or other means, would himself have been an object of public execration. The foreman knew that the story must go on. It did so.

“One day, Sir Harry met Sir Isaac in the woods, and they’d a bit of talk. Without thinking much about it. Sir Harry explained that he was called on to blow soap-bubbles for a the king, and that he was in great need of soap, which at that time was worth far more than gold.”

“And Morgenstern a retired soap-maker!” exclaimed Doc Williams involuntarily. “Now wasn’t that hard luck for him?”

“You may quite believe so,” said the teller of the story gently. “And, the saddest part of it, he’d nearly solved our problem before he left us. Soon as Sir Harry began talking of soap, Sir Isaac was wondering how he could make soap. At once he thought of Mr. Cook, the missionary. ‘Soap-making is simple,’ said he, ‘if one has fat and alkali. Now there is Mr Mr.

“‘You can’t have the missionary,’ said Sir Harry, ‘until after he after has married me and the princess. Then I don’t mind.’

“‘Even then, we’d have no alkali,’ said Sir Isaac.

“I’ve said Sir Harry was a sad dog. ‘I don’t mind giving you my copy of Corelli,’ said he. And, by Jove! I believe he and Sir Isaac made it up in some way, for presently the missionary disappeared, although I rescued most of the book later on. Miss Eckstrom, Sir Isaac’s cook, protested against the use of the missionary, whom she’d fancied for a barbecue.

“‘He’s too big,’ said Sir Isaac, and though she insisted that the guests could take home what they did not eat, he insisted on his right as master; and I’ve every reason to believe Mr. Cook was made over into soap.”

At this point every man in the Lone Star quietly arose and sought refreshment. The King of Gee-Whiz remained leaning against the wall, blinking at the sun, a set expression on his face. His auditors looked back at him, half in awe, but presently, drawn by the spell of his speech, reformed their listening circle.

“For once Sir Isaac was wrong,” said the chronicler. “He oversold the market, and that was his mistake. As soon as the King of Gee-Whiz found that there was an abundance of soap, he lost his fancy for bubbles. The shock at this lost opportunity was too much; it prostrated Sir Isaac, and he presently passed away. We mourned him for a time, but presently other events occurred which deadened the loss. I say, my dear fellow, I’d thank you awfully for just a nip, you know. Thanks.

“You will understand that the King of Gee-Whiz was a deucedly good sort. He’d take a nip himself, now and again, of course. The only thing he had to drink was palm wine, which he got by chopping a notch in a tree, and catching the juice in a cup.”

“That sounds like wood-alcohol,” said Billy Hudgens, in a professional tone of voice. “It ain’t safe.”

“Quite right. It wasn’t safe. The palm wine itself caused the king to cut a pretty caper now and then; but after his mistake he was far worse—far worse. He never got over that, never. Never in the world!”

“What happened to him?”

“A most extr’or’nary thing. I never knew anything like it in all the world.

“You see, there were two trees which grew close together near the royal palace. One of these was His Majesty’s private drinking-tree. The other, as it chanced, was a rubber tree.”

The foreman at this point removed his hat and placed it on his knee, wiping, as he did so, a brow now dotted thick with moisture. No one spoke.

“You will easily understand,” said the central figure of the scene, “that the King of Gee-Whiz had chopped into the rubber-tree with his little gold ax, drinking afterward a cupful of pure caoutchouc—rubber-juice, you know. It did not take him long to repent of his inadvertence. The results were what I may call most extr’or’nary indeed. I should judge the rubber-juice to have been of very high proof, indeed.”

There seemed nothing precisely fitting to say to this, and the narrator went on:

“To be brief, I give you my word of honor, the king was turned into an absolutely elastic person on the spot! When he stamped his foot, he bounded into the air. ‘He’s a regular bounder, anyway,’ said Sir Harry, who would always have his joke. ‘And,’ said he to me, as I remember distinctly, ‘if his conscience gets elastic, we’re gone, the same as Cook and Morgenstern.’ Sir Harry was a great wit.

“Now, the more furious the king became, the more helpless he became as well. He simply bounced up and down and around and about. Reigning monarch, too—lack of dignity—all that sort of thing—must have been most annoying to him. In all my travels I have never seen such a state of affairs. I haven’t, really.”

“Not me, neither,” said Doc Williams, sighing.

“But what happened after that?” said the foreman.

“Everything that could happen,” said the other, bitterly. “Miss Sophie and her maid, Sir Harry and the princess—the entire household suite of the King of Gee-Whiz, were mad enough to taste also of the juice of this rubber-tree. It had the same effect upon them. I say to you, my friends, that then and there the Island of Gee-Whiz was inhabited by the maddest population ever known in any possession of Her British Majesty.”

“They must have been a hard bunch to hold,” said the foreman. “But what happened then?”

“I am not quite clear as to all that happened after that. I know that I was the only sane man left on the island. I reproved the others, and they resented it. There was a great battle with the natives one day, of which I remember but little. I seem to have been left insensible on the field. When I recovered, I saw, dancing off across the sea, the figures of all these different persons, except that of Sir Harry, who, of course, was with me in the battle. Sir Harry was still with me, quite sober at last, and quite dead. I do not know from what cause. I was left alone.

“It was thus, gentlemen, that I acquired, by right, as I think, my title of the King of Gee-Whiz, which I assumed after acting for a time as viceroy to Her British Majesty. Afterward, in some way which I do not quite call to mind at present, I appear to have been discovered. It was shortly after that I received my decoration—I beg your pardon.” He flushed a dull red. “It was nothing, of course,” said he. “As to saving Sir Harry, it was only what any other fellow would have done in the Army, or the Navy—I don’t remember which.

“So, gentlemen. I’ve told you my story as a gentleman should. I’ve been deucedly down on my luck ever since then, as Job said, and I can’t tell you, really I can’t, how I happened to be here and in this business where you found me. There’s many a younger son, in the Army or the Navy, who knocks about a bit and gets down on his luck. I hope you’ll not lay it up against me, I do, indeed!” His head drooped forward on his chest. “I was stone broke,” he whispered, “and I’d not a friend on earth.”

A dozen hands motioned toward the bar, and the piteous object before them was presently revived to a certain extent. Dollars dropped into the hat which went around. That the trial was over every one knew perfectly well.

“It wasn’t so bad,” resumed the stranger presently, weakly passing his hand across his forehead, “it wasn’t so bad down in here for a time. I didn’t mind being alone—that sort of thing—for you see I was alone on the island for so long. But the trouble was that I was followed all the time—have been for more than a year now—by that cursed king—that damned bounding rubber sovereign that I thought I’d left long ago! I’d go out into the sunshine, and there he’d be, walking and bounding and jumping along beside me, any way I’d look. He’d follow me like a—look! look! there he is now! See!”

He raised a trembling finger and pointed to a spot in front of the open door. A black shadow was cast upon the floor by the strong sunlight which shone upon the figure of a leaning spectator.

“Look,” cried the King of Gee-Whiz. “He’s there! He’s there!” His eyes started in horror. He slipped and sank to the floor, rolling over into an utter insensibility.

The foreman put on his hat and stood looking down at him. “Sand, sunshine, and sheep-herdin’,” said he, “will do up any man in time. I’d ’a’ made a good cow-puncher out of this feller, too, if I’d got him in time.”

They turned over the King of Gee-Whiz gently, that he might rest more easily where he lay. His coat and waistcoat fell open. Underneath them, upon the left side of his chest, appeared a small, dull-colored cross of metal.

“For Valor!” said the foreman, in a puzzled way, reading the letters which it bore.

“Why, that’s the V. C., man!” exclaimed Doc Williams, from out his larger experience.

“I knowed it!” declared the foreman, “I knowed he’d been a cow-puncher some time, and just went wrong. But ‘V. C.,’” he added doubtfully, “I don’t know that brand. It ain’t registered for this range. But anyhow, V. C. or D. T., I reckon he’s good for a job with me. This country can’t afford to be to damned particular about a man’s past.”