The Uphill Climb

Ford Campbell is a hard-working, honest, decent cowboy—when he’s sober. But give him a bottle of whiskey and all bets are off. Usually it just makes him rowdy, but this time…well, this time he thinks there might just have been a wedding. Was he the groom? Who was the bride? And where is she?

By : B. M. Bower (1871 - 1940)

01 - Married! And I Don't Know Her Name! 02 - Wanted: Information 03 - One Way to Drown Sorrow 04 - Reaction 05 - I Can Spare this Particular Girl 06 - The Problem of Getting Somewhere 07 - The Foreman of the Double Cross 08 - I Wish You'd Quit Believing in Me! 09 - Impressions 10 - In Which the Demon Opens an Eye and Yawns 11 - It's Going to Be an Uphill Climb! 12 - At Hand-Grips with the Demon 13 - A Plan Gone Wrong 14 - The Feminine Point of View 15 - The Climb 16 - To Find and Free a Wife 17 - What Ford Found at the Top

Ford lifted his arms above his head to yawn as does a man who has slept too heavily, found his biceps stiffened and sore, and massaged them gingerly with his finger-tips. His eyes took on the vacancy of memory straining at the leash of forgetfulness. He sighed largely, swung his head slowly from left to right in mute admission of failure to grasp what lay just behind his slumber, and thereby discovered other muscles that protested against sudden movement. He felt his neck with a careful, rubbing gesture. One hand strayed to his left cheekbone, hovered there tentatively, wandered to the bridge of his nose, and from there dropped inertly to the bed.

"Lordy me! I must have been drunk last night," he said aloud, mechanically taking the straight line of logic from effect to cause, as much experience had taught him to do.

"You was—and then some," replied an unemotional voice from somewhere behind him.

"Oh! That you, Sandy?" Ford lay quiet, trying to remember. His finger-tips explored the right side of his face; now and then he winced under their touch, light as it was.

"I must have carried an awful load," he decided, again unerringly taking the backward trail from effect to cause. Later, logic carried him farther. "Who'd I lick, Sandy?"

"Several." The unseen Sandy gave one the impression of a man smoking and speaking between puffs. "Can't say just who—you did start in on. You wound up on—the preacher."

"Preacher?" Ford's tone matched the flicker of interest in his eyes.

"Uhn-hunh."

Ford meditated a moment. "I don't recollect ever licking a preacher before," he observed curiously.

Life, stale and drab since his eyes opened, gathered to itself the pale glow of awakening interest. Ford rose painfully, inch by inch, until he was sitting upon the side of the bed, got from there to his feet, looked down and saw that he was clothed to his boots, and crossed slowly to where a cheap, flyspecked looking-glass hung awry upon the wall. His self-inspection was grave and minute. His eyes held the philosophic calm of accustomedness...