Henry Goes Prehistoric by W.C. Tuttle

The Sheriff of Tonto City Could Expect Anything to Come Out of the Night in Wild Horse Valley -- Even an Idea

"Judge" Van Treece was mad; so mad that he deliberately threw his beloved, and badly dog-eared copy of Shakespeare, across the office, where it fluttered to the floor, like a wounded duck. He didn't even look at the poor thing, as he sat, tilted back in an old chair, his high heels hooked around a rung of his chair, which brought his bony, overall-clad knees, almost up to his chin. Judge had the features of a tragedian, and just now he glared his hate at nobody in particular.

Henry Harrison Conroy, the sheriff of Tonto City, got up from his creaking desk chair, retrieved the dog-eared copy and placed it on his desk. While Judge was inches over six feet in height, and as skinny as a sand-hill crane, Henry Harrison Conroy was barely five feet, seven inches in his high-heel boots. However, Henry was fashioned after the specifications of the well-known Humpty Dumpty. Henry had very little hair, a face like a full moon, small eyes and the biggest nose that ever gleamed above the footlights in vaudeville. That nose had been known from one end of most vaudeville chains to the other, featured, in fact.

He looked quizzically at Judge, as he sat down.

"After all, Judge," he said, "you can not blame William Shakespeare."

"I have," declared Judge hollowly, looking straight ahead, "a notion of resigning. I still have my pride, sir. My body may belong to Wild Horse Valley, but my soul is still my own."

"Ah, yes -- pride and soul; resignation -- no! " mumbled Henry. "No, that is not the solution, Judge. There must be some other way to handle the situation. We'll fight this out to the bitter end."

"So you think there will be a bitter end, Henry?"

"Let us look calmly upon the matter at hand," suggested Henry. "I must admit that those Commissioners are irksome. They did decry our lack of ability in coping with the crime wave, which seems to be washing upon our shores. It is very unfortunate that recent gold strikes have filled Tonto City to overflowing with some damnable riff-raff, which always drifts in with new gold strikes, like buzzards after a dead animal. Our once-peaceful pueblo of Tonto is filled with covetous folk, who work not, neither do they spin. And we, you and I, Judge, are the Keepers of the Peace -- such as it is."

"Keepers of the Peace," repeated Judge. "I like that, sir. But that is not what the _Clarion_ called us. Isn't bad enough to read such damnable, scurrilous, infamous -- er -- "

"Enlightening," suggested Henry calmly.

"Well," sighed Judge, "I was about to indicate that I did not relish the reading of the editorial by the Commissioners. Damme, they didn't have to read it aloud to us! We had read it. It is deplorable that a chuckleheaded nincompoop like James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly can influence public opinion. He suggests that we resign at once. And damme, that Board of Commissioners agreed with him. In fact, they -- well, were you going to say something?"

"No," replied Henry calmly, "I merely opened my mouth for air."

"Well, do you not resent the attitude of the three Commissioners, Henry? Are you a man or a mouse, sir?"

"Biology," sighed Henry, "is in my favor; I have but two legs."

"Will you please hand me that book? " asked Judge. "I hate to ask it, but my damn legs are so cramped that I would never be able to regain this position again. Thank you, sir -- you are kind."

Judging from appearances there was little wonder that the Scorpion Bend _Clarion_ called these two men, plus Oscar Johnson, their jailer, the Shame of Arizona. Oscar was a giant Swede of tremendous strength, but low IQ.

When vaudeville waned and faded from American stages, Henry Harrison Conroy, like thousands of other vaudevillians, was out of work. An uncle, whom he had never heard about before, died in Wild Horse Valley, leaving Henry as sole owner of the JHC cattle ranch. Henry knew nothing about the cattle country, but he accepted his inheritance, came to Tonto City, wearing tailored clothes, spats, pearl-colored derby hat, and twirling a gold-headed cane.

Arizona loved Henry at once. His courtly manner, sense of ridiculous humor, and enormous thirst intrigued them. He took over the JHC, much to their delight, and really went Arizona himself. Shortly after he became acclimated an election came along, and, as a good joke, the cowboys got together and wrote Henry's name on their ballots. The next morning he found that he was sheriff of Wild Horse County. A cowboy summed it up in his statement that, "We've shore played a joke on this county."

Henry saw the humor of the situation clearly. In Tonto City lived Judge Van Treece, who had never been a judge, but a really fine attorney, until an insatiable thirst made him a derelict. Henry, as a humorous gesture, and also because he liked Judge, appointed Judge as his deputy. And as an extra gesture, he appointed Oscar Johnson, a horse-wrangler, as jailer. It completed as queer a trio of peace officers as any county ever had. Men laughed and made fun of them, but, as a matter of fact, they had managed to keep crime at a rather low ebb in Wild Horse Valley, until now, when things were getting out of hand, due to an influx of rather unsavory characters, lured by new gold strikes.