"Who found a little prophet in the rushes on the bank," Shorty further
explained.
But Faith was eagerly whispering to Hiram, "You know, Hiram, frequently
people by just putting down fifty cents, or a dollar, walk out with
millions." Then timidly she added, "I'd like to try it once."
"Faith Doolittle!" was all Hiram could exclaim, so great was his
surprise at his wife's request. Truly, he thought, women were strange
cattle. To think of Faith, so quiet, so serene all these years, and
then--to see her now with flushed cheeks, hat awry, and an eager,
feverish look in her mild eyes as she tried to draw him to the table.
"Oh," she pleaded, "only fifty cents' worth, Hiram. There couldn't be
any harm in fifty cents' worth."
Behind his great hand Shorty convulsed the others by observing,
"Mother's a sport, but father's near."
Hiram now realized that he must be firm and leave this place that was
affecting so strangely his wife's conduct.
"You couldn't keep money got in that nefarious way, even if you won it,"
he explained; "you're a churchwoman."
"We could give some of it to the church," quickly reasoned Faith; "and,
Hiram, we could do such a lot of good with a million. Just try fifty
cents' worth." She made a further attempt to reach the table.
"Come out of here, Faith Doolittle," stormed Hiram, as he saw his
protests were of no avail, "or you'll have me going it in a minute."
He, too, began to feel the tempting influence of the green cloth, the
glittering money-heaps, and the feverish gayety of the ribald crowd.
As Hiram started to lead Faith to the door they were stopped by Shorty.
"Nick," he called to the bartender, "my friends, Mr. and Mrs.
Hill--Bunkco Hill--of Boston." The slang name for the innocence of the
couple caught the crowd's fancy. They quickly formed a circle around
them.
"Pleased to know you," Nick observed from the bar. "What's your drink?"
He began filling glasses with whiskey.
This time Hiram's indignation was effectual. Grasping his
now-frightened spouse by the arm, he fiercely drew her away, the
cow-boys laughingly letting them go, with polite bows, and bits of
advice called good-naturedly after them.
It was the sport of children, as indeed these men were to a great
extent--crude, rough, but with a sweetness not to be denied and a
decency that it might seem strange to find in such a place. So far
their fun might go, but they knew where to stop, and Faith Doolittle's
gentle face was its own protection. They watched Hiram nervously
leading his wife along the platform down the line. Then they turned
back to the saloon and amused themselves by giving imitations of the
quaint visitors, until the place rang with their boisterous merriment.
Suddenly there was a rattle of spurs and a noise from without as a tall
cow-puncher lurched through the door.
In a moment there was silence. Every one knew the man.
"Hello, here's Cash now," observed Shorty.
The innocent gayety was forgotten. A different expression began to
appear on the men's faces. In Jim's crowd it was one of sullen
rebellion and suppressed indignation, in the other an expectant desire
for real mischief. With Cash Hawkins's entrance that afternoon, history
was made in Maverick.
*CHAPTER XV*
Cash Hawkins leaned against the bar and maliciously took in the silence
that followed his entrance into the saloon. He knew he was feared; he
had made more than one man there feel his power. Malignity was marked in
his demeanor and in the physiognomy of his face. He was lithe and
straight, with wiry, steel-like muscles. He had a small head with a
shock of tawny hair that he wore much longer than is usual with
ranchmen. The rawhide strap of his hat hung under his chin, and his
face, with its long, pointed wolf jaw, suggested that animal in its
expression of ferocious keenness. When he grew excited his mouth moved
convulsively, like an ugly trap ready to devour its prey. His hands
were curiously beautiful--long and slender, with almond-shaped nails.
The care he bestowed on them to keep their beauty in the midst of his
rough life, the gorgeousness of his leather chaps with their mounting of
silver, and the embroidery on his waistcoat betrayed his salient
weakness--inordinate vanity. He was handsome in a cruel, hard fashion.
Of his power as an athlete there was no question. In the saloon many
could testify to the devilish cunning of those supple hands.
"Got a bottle of ink handy, Nick?" he said, when he had insolently
surveyed the assemblage, who, after a pause, were beginning to talk and
settle down to new games.
Nick, who wished to be friendly with all who patronized him, answered:
"Ink? Ink is a powerful depressing drink, Cash."
"Drink!" Cash's face grew livid with rage. "You see here, Nick, don't
you joke with me; I ain't in the humor for it. People has to know me
intimate to joke with me--savvy? You get me a pen and a bottle of ink
P.D.Q. I'm buying some cattle of Tabywana, the Ute chief--savvy? And
he's got to put his mark to the contract."
With swaggering gestures Cash announced his business so that all could
hear him. Bill whispered to the boys, who, going on with their game,
were still listening and watching Cash intently:
"You know what that skunk's up to now. He's got Tabywana drunk--been at
it for days--in order to swindle him out of his cattle."
Shorty, with all of the cow-boy's intolerance of the red man's rights,
snapped, "Well, it don't make much difference about Injins."
"No," growled Grouchy, "guv'ment supports 'em anyway."
Nick had unearthed a bottle of ink.
"Well," he said, as he handed it across the bar, "that was ink once,
Cash. 'Ain't had no use for it sense my gal throwed me. Gits more
people into trouble. Often wisht I was illiterate." Nick's dry humor
betrayed his descent from the Emerald Isle.
Cash paid no attention to Nick's attempts at conversation. He was
filling his glass and surveying the crowds at the various tables. It
annoyed him that no one had greeted him with any particular show of
enthusiasm. Save for a "How d'ye," or a nod from some of the
hangers-on, no one had particularly noticed him. He stood against the
bar, and without turning his body directed his words towards Big Bill
and Jim's men at a table near him. With a truculent swagger he blew his
cigarette smoke through his nostrils.
"There's just one thing I can't stand for," he began, "and that's an
Englishman." There was a movement from Jim's men, but it was quickly
controlled. Cash went on: "He's a blot on any landscape, and wherever I
see him I shall wipe him off the map. He is distinctly no good. We
whipped 'em once, and we kin do it again. They 'ain't never whipped
nuthin' but niggers and savages. The Englishman is a coward and any
American who works for him is a cur."
With one movement Andy, Shorty, and Grouchy rose and their hands went to
their guns, but almost before they had clutched them Bill was towering
over them. With one hand he pushed Grouchy, and with the other gripped
the shoulders of Shorty and Andy, until he forced them down into their
chairs.
"Leave him to me," was all he said, and the men sullenly subsided under
their foreman's orders.
Bill stood looking at Cash. He wanted to gain time and not take any
notice of insults from him until it was so directly levelled that they
could no longer endure it. He wished Jim would come; it was time for
him. He wanted to finish some details of the shipping and then get
their men to leave Maverick.
Cash saw Bill's command of the men; he ground his jaw with ugly grating
sounds from his big white teeth. Looking directly at Bill, he said,
"There is a certain outfit been a circilatin' reports derogitory to my
standin' in this here kummunity, and before the day is over I will round
up said outfit and put my brand on 'em." As he spoke he touched his
gun.
"Same as you been a-puttin' it on their cattle?" Bill remarked, coldly.
This was what Cash wanted; but he saw Tabywana coming along the
platform, and there was too much at stake to allow him to gratify his
feeling of anger against Bill then. He gave a low, chuckling laugh.
"A remark I overlook for the time bein', as I ain't agoin' to take
advantage of the absence of the furrin gent that owns you."
He came towards Tabywana, who, halting and stumbling, was trying to
cross the room. Cash laughed malevolently as he noticed his helpless
condition. The Indian was trailing his blanket along the ground, his
feathers were broken, and all intelligence--even cunning--was blotted
from his face. The unconquerable dignity of a fallen aristocrat alone
remained, and even handicapped as he was by his inebriated condition, he
stood out against the others in the saloon as the one true claimant of
America's royal race.
[Illustration: "ALMOST AS ONE MAN THEY THRUST THEIR REVOLVERS INTO BUD'S
FACE" See page 200]
Cash caught him by the arm and steered him to the bar. "Hello, Chief,"
he began, most affably; "come over here and we'll close our trade in a
jiffy."
He spoke lightly, but his mouth began its rapacious twitching--Cash was
really a little nervous over the deal. The government once in a while
remembered its people, and took up the claim of the red man. He drew
from his belt a paper.
"Ther's the big treaty, Chief," he hurriedly began to explain. "Now all
you got to do is to make your mark to it." He spoke aloud so that all
could hear as he said, "Heap good trade." Cash was clever enough to
know that if the deal took place in the saloon in the presence of Nick
it would seem, if inquiry were made later, a fair deal.
But Tabywana's mind had been tortured by one desire--more drink from the
bottle that the white man controlled.
He mumbled helplessly as he leaned against the bar and began soliciting
Nick for a drink.
"What's that? You don't want to trade?" Cash burst forth. "Why, damn
you--" Then he paused; to lose his temper would accomplish nothing. A
little patience and he could force Tabywana to make his mark. He
glanced about the saloon. The others were paying little attention to
him--a drunken Indian was of no moment to them. He signalled Nick that
he would take the responsibility of giving the Indian liquor. Both knew
it was against the law, but both also knew that it was a law daily
broken.
"Touge-wayno fire-water," wailed Tabywana.