They Say the Road Ain't No Place to Start a Family

The Roads We Accept

by O. Henry

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The Roads Nosotros Take was published in O. Henry's short story collection, Whirligs.

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Xx miles W of Tucson, the "Sunset Express" stopped at a tank to have on water. Besides the aqueous, addition the engine of that famous flyer acquired another things that were not good for it.

While the firewoman was lowering the feeding hose, Bob Tidball, "Shark" Dodson and a quarter-bred Creek Indian called John Big Dog climbed on the engine and showed the engineer iii round orifices in pieces of ordnance that the carried. These orifices so impressed the engineer with their possibilities that he raised both easily in a gesture such equally accompanies the ejaculation "Practise tell!"

At the crisp command of Shark Dodson, who was leader of the attacking strength the engineer descended to the ground and uncoupled the engine and tender. Then John Big Dog, perched upon the coal, sportively held two guns upon the engine driver and the fireman, and suggested that they run the engine fifty yards away and there wait further orders.

Shark Dodson and Bob Tidball, scorning to put such low-form ore as the passengers through the mill, struck out for the rich pocket of the express machine. They establish the messenger serene in the belief that the "Sunset Express" was taking on zippo more stimulating and dangerous than aqua pura. While Bob was knocking this thought out of his head with the butt-end of his half-dozen-shooter Shark Dodson was already dosing the express-auto safe with dynamite.

The rubber exploded to the tune of $30,000, all aureate and currency. The passengers thrust their heads casually out of the windows to look for the thunder-cloud. The conductor jerked at the bong-rope, which sagged downward loose and unresisting, at his tug. Shark Dodson and Bob Tidball, with their booty in a stout sheet bag, tumbled out of the express car and ran awkwardly in their high-heeled boots to the engine.

The engineer, sullenly angry but wise, ran the engine, according to orders, rapidly away from the inert train. But earlier this was accomplished the express messenger, recovered from Bob Tidball'south persuader to neutrality, jumped out of his motorcar with a Winchester rifle and took a play tricks in the game. Mr. John Large Dog, sitting on the coal tender, unwittingly made a wrong atomic number 82 by giving an fake of a target, and the messenger trumped him. With a ball exactly between his shoulder blades the Creek chevalier of industry rolled off to the footing, thus increasing the share of his comrades in the loot by one-6th each.

2 miles from the tank the engineer was ordered to stop.

The robbers waved a defiant bye and plunged downwards the steep slope into the thick woods that lined the runway. 5 minutes of crashing through a thicket of chapparal brought them to open woods, where three horses were tied to low-hanging branches. One was waiting for John Big Domestic dog, who would never ride by night or day again. This brute the robbers divested of saddle and bridle and set free. They mounted the other 2 with the handbag across one pommel, and rode fast and with discretion through the forest and upwardly a primeval, alone gorge. Here the animal that bore Bob Tidball slipped on a mossy boulder and broke a foreleg. They shot him through the head at once and sabbatum down to agree a council of flight. Fabricated secure for the present by the tortuous trail they- had travelled, the question of fourth dimension was no longer so large. Many miles and hours lay between them and the spryest posse that could follow. Shark Dodson's horse, with trailing rope and dropped determent, panted and cropped thankfully of the grass forth the stream in the gorge. Bob Tidball opened the sack, drew out double handfuls of the great packages of currency and the one sack of aureate and chuckled with the glee of a child.

"Say, you former double-decked pirate," he chosen joyfully to Dodson, "you lot said we could do it -- you lot got a head for financing that knocks the horns off of annihilation in Arizona."

"What are we going to practice about a hoss for you lot, Bob? We ain't got long to await here. They'll exist on our trail before daylight in the mornin'."

"Oh, I guess that cayuse of yourn'll carry double for a while," answered the sanguine Bob. "We'll annex the first beast nosotros encounter. By jingoes, we made a haul, didn't nosotros? Accordin' to the marks on this money in that location's $30,000 -- $15,000 apiece!"

"It's short of what I expected," said Shark Dodson, kicking softly at the packages with the toe of his boot and so he looked pensively at the wet sides of his tired equus caballus.

"Onetime Bolivar'due south mighty nigh played out," he said, slowly. "I wish that sorrel of yours hadn't got hurt."

"And so exercise I," said Bob, heartily, "but it can't be helped. Bolivar's got enough of bottom -- he'll get us both far enough to become fresh mounts. Dang it, Shark, I can't belp thinkin' how funny it is that an Easterner like you lot tin can come out here and requite us Western fellows cards and spades in the desperado business. What part of the East was you from, anyway?"

"New York State," said Shark Dodson, sitting downwardly on a boulder and chewing a twig. "I was born on a farm in Ulster County. I ran away from abode when I was seventeen. It was an accident my coming West. I was walkin' along the route with my clothes in a parcel, makin' for New York City. I had an idea of goin' there and makin' lots of money. I always felt similar I could do it. I came to a identify i evenin' where the route forked and I didn't know which fork to take. I studied near information technology for half an hour, and then I took the left- manus. That nighttime I meet the camp of a Wild W testify that was travellin' among the fiddling towns, and I went West with it. I've often wondered if I wouldn't have turned out different if I'd took the other road."

"Oh, I reckon you'd have ended up about the same," said Bob Tidball, cheerfully philosophical. "Information technology own't the roads we accept; information technology's what's inside of us that makes us turn out the style we do."

Shark Dodson got upwards and leaned against a tree.

"I'd a good deal rather that sorrel of yourn hadn't injure himself, Bob," he said again, virtually pathetically.

"Same here," agreed Bob; "he was sure a first-rate kind of a crowbait. But Bolivar, he'll pull us through all correct. Reckon we'd better be movin' on, hadn't we, Shark? I'll purse this boodle ag'in and we'll hit the trail for college timber."

Bob Tidball replaced the spoil in the bag and tied the mouth of information technology tightly with a string. When he looked upward the most prominent object that he saw was the muzzle of Shark Dodson'south .45 held upon him without a waver.

"End your funnin'," said Bob, with a smiling. "We got to be hittin' the breeze."

"Fix still," said Shark. "You ain't goin' to hit no breeze, Bob. I hate to tell you, but there ain't any hazard for but one of us. Bolivar, he's plenty tired, and he can't carry double."

"We been pards, me and you, Shark Dodson, for three yr," Bob said quietly. "We've risked our lives together time and again. I've e'er give yous a foursquare bargain, and I thought y'all was a human being. I've heard some queer stories about you shootin' i or two men in a peculiar mode, but I never believed 'em. Now if y'all're merely havin' a trivial fun with me, Shark, put your gun up, and we'll get on Bolivar and vamose. If you mean to shoot -- shoot, you blackhearted son of a tarantula!"

Shark Dodson's face up bore a deeply sorrowful expect. "You don't know how bad I feel," he sighed, "about that sorrel of yourn breakin' his leg, Bob."

The expression on Dodson'due south face changed in an instant to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity. The soul of the homo showed itself for a moment like an evil face up in the window of a reputable house.

Truly Bob Tidball was never to "hit the breeze" again. The deadly .45 of the imitation friend cracked and filled the gorge with a roar that the walls hurled back with indignant echoes. And Bolivar, unconscious cohort, swiftly bore away the final of the holders-up of the "Sunset Limited," not put to the stress of "carrying double."

Just as "Shark" Dodson galloped abroad the woods seemed to fade from his view; the revolver in his right mitt turned to the curved arm of a mahogany chair; his saddle was strangely upholstered, and he opened his optics and saw his feet, non in stirrups, but resting quietly on the edge of a quartered-oak desk.

I am telling yous that Dodson, of the firm of Dodson & Decker, Wall Street brokers, opened his optics. Peabody, the confidential clerk, was continuing by his chair, hesitating to speak. At that place was a confused hum of wheels below, and the allaying buzz of an electric fan.

"Ahem! Peabody," said Dodson, blinking. "I must take fallen asleep. I had a nigh remarkable dream. What is it, Peabody?"

"Mr. Williams, sir, of Tracy & Williams, is exterior. He has come to settle his bargain in X. Y. Z. The marketplace caught him curt, sir, if you retrieve."

"Yes, I remember. What is X. Y. Z. quoted at to-day, Peabody?"

"One eighty-five, sir."

"Then that'due south his price."

"Excuse me," said Peabody, rather nervously "for speaking of it, but I've been talking to Williams. He's an old friend of yours, Mr. Dodson, and you lot practically have a corner in X. Y. Z. I thought you might -- that is, I thought y'all might not call up that he sold you lot the stock at 98. If he settles at the marketplace price it volition take every cent he has in the world and his home too to deliver the shares."

The expression on Dodson's face changed in an instant to one of common cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity. The soul of the homo showed itself for a moment similar an evil face in the window of a reputable business firm.

"He will settle at one eighty-5," said Dodson. "Bolivar cannot deport double."

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Source: https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/the-roads-we-take

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