WHEN OSCAR WENT WILD

by W. C. Tuttle

Author of “Derelicts of the Hills,” “Magpie’s Nightbear.”


Ren Merton and Sig Watson had spent the night in Piperock and of a
consequence were in no shape to appreciate the beauties of the dewy
morn, as their horses picked their way up the trail to the top of
Overwhich ridge.

“Them Piperock fellers play poker like I sing,” stated Sig, as they
pulled up their mounts for a breathing spell. “They gits their words
and music so mixed that nobody knows what they’re tryin’ to do.
They’re uh success, though.”

Ren removed his sombrero with an exaggerated flourish and, lifting
himself in his stirrups, broke forth in a shrill falsetto:

“Nobode-e-e-e knows how dry I am.”

“Shut up!”

“Mama mine, he won’t let me sing,” wailed Ren. “I lost jist as much
as he did and m’ head aches jist as hard and he won’t let m’ sing.
What do yuh know about that!”

“Jist don’t sing, that’s all,” replied Sig. “You can say all th’
funny things yuh wants to to yoreself, but I’m right here to remark
that singin’—yore kind uh singin’—ain’t in de-mand a-tall.
_Sabe?_”

“Always misunderstood,” mumbled Ren. “Th’ human race ain’t never
understood me. Mother misunderstood me; father follered suit, and
now you—Siggie, my old pal—you turns on me.”

“Misunderstood!” Sig turned in his saddle and gazed reflectively at
his partner. “Ren Merton, if you was ever entered fer th’ human race
you shore was scratched. Yore nose ain’t right—too long. Yuh got uh
bad case uh squints in both uh yore eyes, and yore mouth, which was
cut too wide in th’ first place, ain’t shrunk none a-tall.
Shoulders? Say, I sometimes wonder how comes it that yore collar
don’t slip down and trip yuh. Also, yore right foot is where yore
left ought to be.”

“Pickled prairie-dogs, that’s right!” agreed Ren. “I reckon I shore
must a been muddled this mawnin’ when I puts on m’ boots.”

“And also yore hair——”

“You stops at hair!” exploded Ren. “Mebby I’ve got red hair and
mebby she runs uh little to th’ rusty shade, but I’ll be danged if
any feller with fat eyebrows, buffalo-horn mustache and bow legs can
taunt me with th’ fact. Take uh look in th’ glass and you’ll see
that you ain’t no one-to-ten shot in this race yoreself, Sig.”

Sig grunted and turned back. The horses seemed to start by mutual
consent and plodded off down the hogback.

“I’ve knowed uh lot uh people,” remarked Sig, “who thought they had
red hair, but——”

He pulled up his horse.

“Wasn’t that a voice, Ren?”

“I reckon not—not uh human one anyway. Go on and finish yore
remarks about hair.”

“I tell yuh I heard somebody yell!” declared Sig. “It was jist over
that ridge, and I’m goin’ to see who it was.”

He spurred his horse into a gallop and Ren followed at his heels.
They crossed the ridge and swung down into an open timbered swale,
interspersed with clumps of willows and jack-pines.

There they saw her. She was tied to a tree and seemed to be exerting
every muscle to get loose. She was dressed in a faded calico dress
and her dark-brown hair tumbled in confusion about her half-bare
shoulders.

The sight of her was a shock to the punchers and they threw their
broncos back on their haunches at the sight. The girl didn’t see
them, and after the first gasp of surprise they sat there and stared
at her.

Suddenly she shrank back against the tree and screamed—

“That’s not Oscar!”

Like a flash of yellow light a scared cougar had bounded out of the
willow thicket near her and crouched low.

Ren acted first. While he hadn’t the uncanny skill on the draw
attributed to the Western gunman, he was deadly when he did “get his
ol’ smoke-wagon unhitched.” The cougar had barely touched his belly
to the ground when Ren’s .45 started to spout death and destruction.

Two of the heavy slugs tore through its neck, and the cougar tied
itself in a snarling, spitting knot and rolled over dead. When the
last shot was fired Ren’s horse was nearly over the body of the
cougar and Ren was shoving fresh shells into the gun.

The girl looked at Ren in a dazed sort of a way for a moment and
then in a tired little voice remarked—

“That wasn’t Oscar.”

“No, ma’am,” agreed Ren foolishly. “That shore wasn’t Oscar.”

“What happened?” asked a deep bass voice, and Ren turned in his
saddle; behind him stood a florid-faced person in a green corduroy
suit and panama, and behind him a narrow-shouldered, sharp-faced man
in knickerbockers.

“What happened, I asked?” repeated the florid one.

“It wasn’t Oscar,” stated the girl for the third time.

“Well, what was it, then?” queried the sharp-faced man.

“I kept grinding until this cowboy person butted in and spoiled it.”

“Did you quit then?” roared the florid one. “By Jupiter! You lost a
fine chance for some real stuff. But what happened to Oscar, and
where in the world did this other lion come from?”

“Did it—I say—where did it?”

Another person had joined the crowd. He was hatless and garbed in
the costume of the early settler, fringed and beaded buckskin from
his toes to his chin, and his face was ashen. He walked up with an
uncertain gait and his breathing gave evidence of recent exertion.

“What happened to you, Jack?” asked the florid one.

“Why, I—uh—I——”

“You met it too, did you?” grinned the thin-faced one, and the
fringed one gulped an assent.

“I was—er—just coming through that clump of bushes and I met it.
You see I—er—thought perhaps that if I ran I could coax it away
from the rest of you.”

“Haw, haw, haw!” roared Sig. “You shore ought to git uh hero medal.
Didn’t yuh know that no self-respectin’ cougar would chase uh git-up
like that?”

Just then two more men came running down the hill and, seeing the
crowd, one of them stopped and cupped his hands.

“Mister Norton!” he yelled. “Oscar slipped his collar and got away!”

“Just my luck!” exclaimed Norton, the florid one. “Here I bring this
bunch way up here to finish that film, and that blamed cat gets away
and spoils it all!”

“Oscar is uh cougar, I takes it,” opined Ren, rolling a cigarette
and looking admiringly at the girl. “I reckon somebody might as well
let th’ lady loose. Cougars bein’ thick, I don’t think it’s safe to
tie ladies to trees anyway.”

One of the men cut the ropes which bound her, and the thin-faced man
recovered his camera from the willow thicket.

“Miss, I reckon you can have that cougar skin if yuh wants it,”
remarked Sig. “We ain’t got no use fer it, and if yuh wants it I’ll
have Ren skin it fer yuh.”

“I am Miss Reynolds,” she replied with a smile. “And I’d love to
shake hands with both of you. You gentlemen saved my life, and I
haven’t words to thank you with.”

“Don’t mention it, Miss Reynolds,” replied Sig. “Little thing like
that—why——”

“Slack up yore rope!” rasped Ren. “You never saved anything—not
even yore salary, and now yuh tells her that it’s uh little thing to
save her life.” He leaned over an’ held out his hand. “Miss
Reynolds, I’m uh heap glad to meet yuh. My name’s Ren Merton, and if
there’s anything I can do fer yuh—yuh can have that catskin to
remember me by.”

She gave him a sweet smile.

“I’d love to have it, Mr. Merton. I’ll have one of the men skin it,
and every time I put my foot on that rug I’ll remember you. I’ve had
my life saved many times on the films, but this being the first time
in real life, I just don’t know what to say.”

“I jist hope yuh won’t forget it, anyway,” laughed Ren.

“Do you think you’ll forget it?” she asked.

“Lady,” interrupted Sig, “that hombre can forget anything. I’m th’
brains of our outfit, and if yuh wants an intelligent favor done,
jist ask me. _Sabe?_”

“I don’t know whether you gentlemen are in earnest or not. Do you
mean everything you say to each other?”

“I do,” replied Sig, with a bow, “but Mr. Merton here never meant
anything he ever said. He’s notorious fer jist talkin’. As I orates
before, Miss Reynolds, if there is anything I can do fer yuh,
why——”

“I do wish we could get Oscar,” she replied reflectively. “There
goes poor old Nortie up the hill with a broken heart, and I know
that Jack Markham is awfully put out about it too. You see we’ve
simply got to have a cougar or we can’t finish the picture. I wonder
if you could catch Oscar? He’s as tame as a kitten and has never
been wild. The company raised him—got him from a zoo when he was a
little yellow kitten. I know that Mr. Norton would be willing to pay
you well if you would catch him.”

“Miss Reynolds, we ain’t mercenary thataway,” replied Sig. “I ain’t
wastin’ no love on that Norton person, and I don’t rassel no cougar
fer his money, but if you really wants that cat, I’m promisin’ it to
yuh.”

“That’s awfully kind of you,” she cooed. “If you could catch him and
bring him back here tomorrow, I could just love you both. Then we
could finish that picture. Really, he is as tame as a kitten.”

“Consider him caught,” boasted Sig. “Me and Ren will bring him to
yore house tomorrow mawnin’. Uh course I could git him alone, but
bein’ as Ren is with me I’ll let him help.”

“Meanin’,” drawled Ren, “that I ropes that cat and ties him up fer
shipment, and Sig writes th’ address.”

Miss Reynolds insisted on shaking hands with both of them again, and
her smile left them both unable to roll a cigarette.

“We’re living in those cabins up there in the pines,” she explained,
“and probably will be there for a few days. You can bring him right
up there.”

“Yes’m,” they both replied, and watched her skip up the hill in the
wake of the rest of the party.

About half-way to the top she stopped and threw them a kiss, and
then danced out of sight in the jack-pines.

Ren rolled a fresh smoke and studied Sig’s rapt expression from
under his hat brim. Suddenly he broke into song——

“And that’s what made th’ wildcat wild.”

“Meanin’ which?” demanded Sig.

“Oscar,” chuckled Ren. “Don’t yuh see, Sig? Them velvet optics made
Oscar——”

“Listen,” snapped Sig. “Confine yore humor to somethin’ else. I
don’t sit here inactive and hear yuh slander them eyes none
whatever. _Sabe_? I’m backin’ th’ lady’s play—me.”

“Me and you both,” replied Ren seriously. “But did yuh ever stop to
consider that you gits so danged conceited when uh female person
speaks to yuh that yuh promises to do anything? Cougars ain’t
woodchucks nor snowshoe rabbits, and I’m thinkin’ aloud that you’ve
gone plumb out of yore class this time.”

“We’ll git him,” snapped Sig. “One of th’ fellers told me that th’
last they saw of him he was lopin’ up th’ trail, and that means he’s
liable to hive up in our cabin. Bein’ as he’s uh house-bred animule,
it stands to reason that he’s goin’ to hunt human company soon’s he
gits hungry or gits scared of th’ dark. _Sabe?_”

Ren nodded and they turned their horses and rode on up the trail to
their cabin about two miles away. They unsaddled their horses at the
corral and then laid down on their bunks for a much-needed rest.

It was almost dark when Ren awoke and looked around the cabin. Sig
was gone. Ren got up and was lazily pulling on his boots when Sig
came in with a hammer in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Th’ sleek hare sleeps while th’ sly fox schemes,” he quoted
dramatically. “I reckon I’ve laid uh trap fer Oscar.”

He hung up the hammer and went out again. A few moments later he was
back of the cabin fumbling with the one window. “Help me take this
thing out, Ren!” he yelled.

Ren removed the nails from the inside and Sig removed the window and
threw in the end of his lariat rope.

“What’s th’ idea?” asked Ren.

Sig grinned and coiled up the rope.

“Cougar trap. I got this rope fixed so’s that when th’ cougar gits
inside of th’ shed, all we got to do is to pull on th’ rope and th’
door shuts. There’s uh quarter uh venison in th’ shed and I’m
bettin’ that Oscar falls fer it, Ren. What do yuh think about it?”

“Sig, yore uh wonder! I’m bettin’ that you’ve already deduced how to
tie him up after we gits him inside. I shore honors and respects
yuh, old timer, and as uh special mark of respect I allows yuh to
prepare our evenin’ meal. I’m so hungry I could eat Oscar, I
reckon.”

Three hours later they sat humped up on their bunk and watched the
door of the shed, a splotch of black in the half moonlight, and
prayed that the cougar would come before they lost too much sleep.

“Don’t light that cigarette here,” cautioned Ren. “Go back near th’
door. If that cat saw th’ light he’d never show up.”

Sig tiptoed to the front of the cabin and sat down on a box. Ren sat
by the window for a few minutes and then joined Sig.

“Give me yore papers and I’ll roll one, too. I reckon it’s uh little
too early fer Oscar to show up yet.”

They smoked in silence for a while and then sneaked back to the
window. Sig took one long look at the door and then threw himself
backward and heaved on the rope. The door shut with a bang and an
unearthly yelp split the stillness of the night.

“Got him!” whooped Sig. “I seen his eyes and slammed that old door
right in his face! Whoopee!”

“Good work!” exclaimed Ren. “I’ll bet Oscar is plumb scared to death
right now.”

“Not any he ain’t. Oscar’s uh tame cougar and, while he may display
uh little peevishness at first, he’ll be plumb satisfied with that
hunk uh meat. Let’s go out and see what he’s doin’.”

They walked around the shed but were unable to size up their catch,
as the shed had no windows. They could hear a sniffling at the
cracks of the door and suddenly a heavy body was flung against it,
but the heavy bar on the outside held it fast.

“Want to go inside and look him over?” queried Ren.

“Not in his present state uh mind, I don’t. That cat is shore some
irritated and when they gits fussed thataway they’re plumb informal.
How do yuh reckon we’re goin’ to acquire his carcass fer shipment?”

“Might git some uh that movie outfit to come up and git him,”
suggested Ren, but Sig promptly vetoed it.

“And have that beautiful lady think that me and you were afraid of
her pet, eh?”

“I’d rather be uh live coward than uh dead hero,” stated Ren. “There
ain’t no honor in th’ grave fer me. I got an idea though. Mebby
she’s good and mebby again she ain’t.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ll unfasten th’ door and let her open jist a little ways. _Sabe?_
Th’ cat will try to come out and I’ll slam th’ door shut when he’s
half-ways out an’ all you has to do is to put two ropes on him. You
take one and I’ll take th’ other and Mr. Oscar is plumb helpless.”

“Uh ha,” agreed Sig. “That’s uh _hy-iu_ scheme—if you holds him.”

“Aw ——, Sig, he’s tame! I’ll hold him. All you got to do is to
slip th’ two ropes on him and give me one. _Sabe?_”

Sig went to the corral and brought back two ropes. He held the
nooses handy while Ren removed the bar. He opened the door an inch
at a time and braced himself for the rush.

“Come on out, Oscar,” pleaded Sig. “Be uh nice li’l cat and come
on——”

Oscar came, not sneakingly nor slowly but a rasping, spitting,
clawing chunk of deviltry, and Ren shut the door just in time. It
caught Oscar at the flank and for a few seconds the air was full of
cougar cuss words.

Sig advanced cautiously and managed to get one rope over its head
and pulled the noose tight. He handed that rope to Ren, who
immediately proceeded to forget that he was there to keep the door
tight. He grabbed the rope with both hands, braced himself for the
rush and unthinkingly stepped away from the door.

There was a heave and a flash and the cougar sailed over Sig’s head
and out to the end of that rope. Ren was partly braced for the shock
but didn’t figure on the velocity of the animal, and when the shock
came he went straight up in the air and off across the clearing.

Luckily he lit running and hung on to the rope, and he and the
cougar went down the hill, over stumps and through the thickets like
a spitting, yelling, yellow comet with a human tail.

They had traveled thus for about two hundred yards when the cougar
went on one side of a tree and Ren on the other. They almost met on
the big swing. The cat flipped upside down over a log while Ren
almost completed the circle, only stopping when he threw his arms
around a tree and hung on. He still held the rope and had presence
of mind enough left to proceed to tie that cat up good and tight.
The cougar had choked itself nearly to death trying to come up under
the log and Ren had little trouble in tying its hind legs so it was
helpless.

He rolled a smoke and hobbled back to the cabin. He wondered in a
detached sort of way what had become of Sig and why he didn’t help
him hold it, but as he walked around the cabin he heard Sig’s voice
imploring him to:

“Hurry up, fer Gawd’s sake!”

“What’s th’ matter?” asked Ren.

“Come over here you danged fool!” wailed Sig. “Can’t yuh see I can’t
hold this door much longer!”

“Hold th—what—why, I’ll be danged! Where did yuh git it, Sig?”

“Grab hold uh this door! How do I know where I got it? When you and
Oscar paraded off down th’ hill I sees uh pair uh eyes shinin’ in
there and I jist slams th’ door in time to catch his neck. Gosh,
ain’t he a sassy-lookin’ animule, Ren? Where’s Oscar?”

“Hog-tied to uh log,” mumbled Ren. “At least I got uh cougar tied to
th’ log—I didn’t ask his name. I wonder how two of ’em got in at
oncet, and which is Oscar?”

“This ain’t Oscar,” stated Sig with conviction. “No house variety of
cougar would have uh face and uh disposition like this one, Ren.”

“Hang onto th’ door, Sig, while I takes uh board off th’ wall and
attacks him from behind. You jist keep on squeezin’ him and I’ll tie
him up.”

Ren got the hammer and removed a board. The cougar objected at the
top of its voice, but in a few minutes Ren had it trussed up and
tied off to a rafter.

They went into the cabin, boiled a pot of coffee and had a smoke.

“Well, we don’t know which is Oscar, but I reckon Miss Reynolds can
pick him out,” remarked Ren.

“Said she’d love me if I got him,” grinned Sid, “and I’ve got him.”

“Yore hearin’ is on uh par with yore brains,” drawled Ren. “She said
‘us,’ and what’s more, Siggie, you ain’t got him—I’ve got him.
_Sabe?_ I risked my whole danged life to git her that cougar. You
can put yore location notice on that one in th’ shed, but not on
Oscar. He’s mine, located, filed and patented.”

“Is that so!” exploded Sig. “I’m here to orate that it was my scheme
which caught it! All you did was to hang on to th’ rope and, not
bein’ overly strong nor active, you permits that li’l cat to haul
yuh around, regardless. And now yuh opines that yuh owns Oscar. Not
any yuh don’t!

“I don’t care if yuh did tear yore pants,” he continued. “If yuh
can’t take care of yoreself don’t blame me. I’ve shore treated yuh
white, Ren Merton, and now yuh turns and bites th’ hand which feeds
yuh!”

“Bites yore hand!” snorted Ren, shaking his forefinger under Sig’s
nose. “Listen: any time I starts bitin’ you won’t confine yore
diagnosis to hands, old timer. I orates openly that as soon as
daylight comes I’m goin’ down and make uh crate and prepare Oscar
fer shipment. _Sabe?_ I ain’t concernin’ myself about that cat in
th’ shed and hereby waives all rights to him, but I duly informs all
present company that I’m uh close corporation when it comes to li’l’
Oscar. Let’s go to bed.”

“Not with you!” snarled Sig. “I’ll take uh blanket and go out in th’
woods or sleep in th’ shed with th’ cougar. I hereby refuses to
share yore bed and I does it without malice in m’ heart. You grieves
me deeply, Mr. Merton, and I’m sore at heart and meek-feelin’.”

“Hop to it!” grunted Ren, as he rolled into the bunk and stretched
wearily. “Don’t go near Oscar ’cause I reckon he’s fond uh meek
things.”

Sig took a blanket and went out, closing the door softly. As the
door closed, Ren slid out of his bunk and peered out of the window.
He chuckled as he saw Sig wander off into the trees, and he sat up
and rolled a smoke and seemed to ponder deeply. Suddenly he slapped
his leg and pinched out the light of his cigarette.

“By golly!” he chuckled, “won’t Sig go high, wide and handsome?”

The first tinge of morning showed in the east when Ren slipped out
of the cabin and approached the shed. Ten minutes later a tawny
figure glided out of the open shed and bounded off into the
underbrush. Five minutes later an apparition in rags stumbled out of
the shed and leaned uncertainly against the wall.

“Mama mine!” it mumbled. “I must be uh sight. Them danged things
won’t go away when yuh gives ’em uh chance. I shore am scratched
some artistic.”

He staggered into the cabin and painfully removed his torn clothing.
He tore up some of the shirt for bandages, but there was too much
space to cover and he was awfully tired. He sat on the bunk as naked
as the day he was born and fumbled for a cigarette in the pockets he
didn’t have on.

“Well, I’ll be teetotally ——!” exclaimed Sig’s voice from the
doorway but Ren never looked up. “Come on and help me, Sig. I reckon
I’m all cut to shoestrings.”

“You ain’t alone, Ren.”

Ren lifted his head and looked at Sig.

“Pickled prairie-dogs!” he groaned. “What happened to you? Did
you—huh—turn Oscar loose?”

“After seven years uh hard fightin’ and hardships I manages to break
his holt,” declared Sig dismally. “I’m jist uh walkin’ hunk uh
Hamburger steak, Ren, and I feels that when I removes my clothes
I’ll be no more. That cat jist simply prospected every piece uh meat
on my frame. In my war-sack under th’ bunk there’s uh roll uh
stickin’ plaster. You wrap me up and I’ll do th’ same fer you, Ren.
I’ve done played my last joke—absolutely. I suppose th’ shed is
empty?”

“Uh ha,” nodded Ren. “I’m apologizin’, Sig.”

“Aw, Ren, I reckon misery likes company.”

“Well,” drawled Ren, “she’s got it.”

Half an hour later, with adhesive plaster covering most of their
bodies they laid down on the bunk and rolled more cigarettes.

“I wonder which one was Oscar?” mused Sig aloud, but Ren was deep in
thought and made no answer.

Finally Ren drew a deep breath and turned to Sig.

“Them movie people take big chances, don’t they? Jist think about uh
girl playin’ with Oscar. Tame? Say, I shore hope I never meets uh
wild cougar, Sig. That animule shore put his trade-mark on me.”

Just then there came a clatter of horse’s hoofs outside and Sig
limped over to the closed door.

“Hello!” yelled a voice, which they both recognized as that of
Norton, the movie director.

“Hello, yoreself!” retorted Sig. “We’re takin’ our mornin’ bath and
can’t come out.”

“That’s all right,” laughed Norton. “I just came up here to deliver
a message to you from Miss Reynolds.”

“What was it?” asked Sig quickly.

“She said for you boys not to worry about Oscar because he came back
right after you left.”

“Must be sore about something,” reflected Norton as his horse picked
its way down the narrow trail. “Either they are sore or mighty
ungentlemanly, because they never even said ‘thank you.’”

                                 THE END
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July, 1916 issue of
Adventure magazine.]