A BOLD BAD MAN
Bull had halted a moment outside the door of the shack to roll a
cigarette. Before he pulled out his tobacco bag he leaned the rifle
against the doorjamb.
His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, did not see the crouching
Racey Dawson within arm's-length.
Both of Bull's hands were cupped round the lighted match. He lifted
it to the end of the cigarette. He sucked in his breath and--a voice
whispered: "Drop that match an' grab yore ears."
Bull did not hesitate to obey, for the broad, cold blade of a bowie
rested lightly against the back of his neck. Bull swayed a little
where he stood.
"I got yore rifle," resumed the whisperer. "Walk away now. Yo're
headin' about right. Don't make too much noise."
Bull did not make too much noise. In fact, he made hardly any. It is
safe to say that he never progressed more quietly in his life. The man
with the bowie steered him to a safe haven behind a fat white boulder
half buried in sumac.
"Si'down," requested the captor in a conversational tone. "We can be
right comfortable here."
"Dawson!" breathed the captive.
"Took you a long time to find it out," said Racey Dawson. "Si'down, I
said," he added, sharply.
Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower
his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle
was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The
firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach.
Racey smiled widely. He felt very chipper and pleased with himself. He
was managing the affair well, he thought.
"You show up right plain against that white rock," he remarked. "If
yo're figuring to gamble with me, think of that."
"Whatcha want?" demanded Bull, sullenly.
"Lots of things," replied Racey, shifting a foot an inch to the left.
"I'm the most wantin' feller you ever saw. Just now this minute I want
you to tell me where it was you met up with Bill Smith and what it was
he did so bad that you and Marie think you've got a hold on him."
"You _was_ listenin' quite a while," muttered Bull.
"Quite a while," admitted Racey Dawson. "Quite a while."
"But you didn't listen quite hard enough," suggested Bull.
"No," assented Racey, "I didn't. I'm expecting you to sort of fill in
the gaps."
Bull shook a decided head. "No," he denied. "No, you got another guess
comin'. I won't do nothin' like that a-tall."
"And why not?"
"Because I won't."
"'Won't' got his neck broke one day just because he wouldn't."
"Yeah, I guess so," sneered Bull.
"You must forget I heard all about how you tried to bushwhack me from
the second floor of the Starlight," Racey put in, gently.
"Aw, that's a damn lie," bluffed Bull. "A damn lie. All a mistake. You
heard wrong."
Racey shook a disapproving head. "When it's after the draw," he said,
"and you ain't got a thing in yore hand, and the other gents have
everything and know they have everything to yore nothing, she's poor
poker to make a bluff. Whatsa use, sport, whatsa use?"
"I dunno what yo're talkin' about," persisted Bull.
"Aw right, let it go at that. Who put you up to bushwhack me?"
"Nun-nobody," hesitated Bull.
"Yore own idea, huh?"
Bull spat disgustedly on the grass. He had seen the trap after it had
been sprung.
"You shore can't play poker," smiled Racey, his eyes shining with
pleasure under the wide brim of his hat. "I--The starlight's pretty
bright remember."
Bull's sudden movement came to naught. He settled back, his eyes
furtively busy.
"Still, alla same," pursued Racey, "I wonder was it all yore own
idea."
"Whatell didja kick me for?" snarled Bull.
"'Kick you for?'" Racey repeated, stupidly.
"Yeah, kick me," said Bull. "No damn man can kick me and me not take
notice."
"Dunno as I blame you. Dunno as I do. If any damn man kicks you, Bull,
you got a right to drill him every time. And you think I kicked you?"
"I know you did."
"You know I did, huh? Did you see me do it?"
"You kicked me after you'd knocked me silly with that bottle. Kicked
me when I was down and couldn't help myself."
"So I did all that to you after you were down, huh? Who told you?"
"Nemmine who told me. You done it, that's enough."
"No, it ain't enough. It ain't enough by a long mile. I want to know
who told you?"
"I ain't sayin'." Sullenly.
"Come to think, she's hardly necessary. Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke were
the only two gents in the Starlight at the time. It was either one
or both of 'em told you. Maybe I'll get a chance to ask 'em about it
later. Now I dunno whether you'll believe it or not but to tell the
truth and be plain with you, Bull, I didn't kick you."
"I don't believe you." But Bull's tone was not confident.
"I wouldn't expect you to--under the circumstances. What I'm tellin'
you is true alla same. Lookit, you fool, is it likely after takin'
the trouble to knock you down, I'd kick you besides? Do I look like a
sport who'd do a thing like that? Think it over."
Bull was silent. But Racey believed that he had planted the seed of
doubt in his mind.
"And another thing," resumed Racey, "do I look like a sport who'd
let another jigger lay for him promiscuous? You go slow, Bull.
I'm good-natured, a heap good-natured. But don't lemme catch you
bushwhacking me again."
"I won't," said Bull with a flash of humour.
"Be dead shore of it," cautioned Racey. "If I ever get to even
thinking that yo're laying for me, Bull, I'm liable to come a-askin'
questions you can't answer. Yo're a bright young man, Bull, but you
want to be careful how you strain yore intellect. You might need it
some day. And if you want to keep on being mother's li'l helper, be
good, thassall, be good."
"Yo're worse'n a helldodger," affirmed Bull.
"You got me sized up right. I'm worse than a helldodger, a whole lot
worse." The words were playful, but the tone was sardonic.
Bull grunted.
"You tell me, will you, just where it was you met this Bill Smith-Jack
Harpe feller, and what it was he did? There's a company in it, too.
What company is it--the Northern Pacific?"
"Ah-h, you got a gall, you have," sneered Bull, savagely. "Think
you'll make something out of Harpe yore own self, huh?"
"That is my idea," admitted Racey.
"Well, you got a gall, thassall I gotta say."
"You forget you've got a gall, too, when you try to bushwhack me,"
Racey reminded him. "I'm trying to play even for that."
"Try away."
"You seem to make it hard for me kind of," grinned Racey.
"Of course I'd enjoy makin' it easy for you all I could," observed
Bull with sarcasm.
"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say _that_," was the Dawson comment.
"But maybe it's possible to persuade you to tell me what you know."
"It ain't."
"Suppose I decided to leave you here."
"You won't." Confidently.
"Why not?"
"Because you ain't shootin' a unarmed man."
"Yet you think I'm the boy to kick one that's down."
"Sometimes I change my mind," said Bull with a harsh laugh.
"You laugh as loud as that again," said Racey, irritably, "and you'll
change somethin' besides yore mind. Don't be too trusting a jake,
Bull, not too trusting. I might surprise you yet. About that
information now--I want it."
"If anybody's gonna make money out of Harpe I am." Thus Bull,
stubbornly.
"I ain't aimin' to make _money_ out of Harpe. What I'm figuring to
make out of him is somethin' else again."
"Whatsa use of lying thataway? Don't--"
"That'll be about all," interrupted Racey. "You've called me a liar
enough for one night. I ain't got _all_ kinds of patience. You going
to tell me what I want to know?"
"No, I ain't."
"Yo're mistaken. You'll tell me, or you'll leave town."
"Leave town!"
"Yep, leave town, go away from here, far, far away. So far away that
you won't be able to blackmail Jack Harpe. See? Yore knowledge won't
be worth a whoop to you then. An' I'll find out what I want to know
from Marie."
"She'll never tell."
"Oh, I guess she will," said Racey, but he knew in his heart that
worming information out of Marie would not be easy. Saving his life
was one thing, but giving up information with a money value would be
quite another. The amiable Marie was certainly not working for her
health.
"Yo're welcome to what you can get out of her," said Bull.
"Then you'll be starting to-night. From here we'll go get yore hoss
and see you safely on yore way."
"What'll you gimme to tell you?" inquired the desperate Bull.
"Nothin'--not a thin dime, feller. C'mon, let's go."
"Nun-no, not yet. I--say, suppose you lemme talk to Jack Harpe first
myself. Just you lemme get my share out of him, and I'll tell you all
you wanna know."
"When you going to him?" Racey demanded, suspiciously.
"To-night if I can find him. It ain't so late. But to-morrow, anyway."
"I'll give you till sundown to-morrow night. If you ain't ready to
tell me then you'll have to drift."
"Maybe, maybe not," sneered Bull.
"I've said it," Racey said, shortly, rising to his feet.
"There's no ropes on you. Skip.... Nemmine yore Winchester. She's all
right where she is. So long, Bull, so long."