Cultus Collins jogged on to Medicine Tree, studying the country as he
went along, rather amused at being mistaken for a sheepman, but not
blaming them. He had learned enough to know that Painted Valley feared
the sheep, and he didn’t blame them for that. Cultus Collins was heart
and soul for the cattle interests. He stabled his roan, secured a room
at the little adobe hotel, where he performed his weekly shaving duties
before sallying forth to see the little town. The bathing facilities at
the Medicine Tree hotel were nil.
Cultus naturally gravitated to the War Dance Saloon. Business was not
very brisk at this time in the afternoon. A couple of girls were
practising a dance step on the little platform, while a third pounded a
few notes from the out-of-tune piano. Alden Marsh sprawled in a chair,
mouthing a frayed cigar and trying to tell them that they knew nothing
of dancing.
Butch Van Deen stood at the bar, one elbow resting on the top, watching
four men playing black jack at a nearby table, when Cultus came in. He
shut one eye and looked Cultus over deliberately, when Cultus came
slowly along in front of the bar, indifferent to the one-eyed stare and
halted near the end of the bar.
One of the girls noticed Cultus and called her companion’s attention,
thereby also attracting the attention of Alden Marsh, who got up from
his chair and came slowly back to the bar, a half-grin on his lips. He
looked sharply at Cultus as he went past and stopped beside Van Deen.
One of the girls giggled, and Cultus turned his head to see them looking
at him.
“I don’t blame ’em,” said Alden with drunken gravity. “’S enough to make
yuh laugh, eh, Butch?”
Butch grinned but did not reply. He wasn’t as drunk as Marsh.
“If I was a stranger with a face like that, I’d stay home,” said Marsh,
laughing at his own wit. The blackjack players looked up. But not a line
of Cultus’s face changed. As far as Marsh’s gibes were concerned, Cultus
might have been stone deaf.
Marsh grimaced sourly. His comedy was falling flat, as far as his object
was concerned; so he came around in front of Van Deen and moved in
closer to Cultus, who paid him no heed.
“Hellow, cowboy,” he said, speaking almost in Cultus’s ear. Cultus
turned his head slowly and looked at Marsh.
“Speakin’ to me?” he asked softly.
“Well, can yuh imagine that?” Marsh challenged the whole room.
“Well, I wasn’t sure,” said Cultus drawlingly. “When a kid gets too much
liquor inside his skin yuh never can tell about him.”
Alden Marsh flushed hotly.
“Is that so? Lemme tell yuh somethin’, Funny Face; I’ll----”
But his sentence was not finished. Cultus whirled quickly, caught the
fingers of his left hand in Marsh’s muffler, whirled him around facing
the bar, and almost with the same movement he plucked Marsh’s gun from
his holster with his right hand, and tossed it over the bar.
Alden Marsh was in an undignified position, half-choked, helpless.
“If somebody will loan me a slipper or a barrel-stave,” said Cultus
evenly, “we’ll finish the job.”
“You can have one of my slippers!” cried one of the girls, and sent it
whirling across the room. It struck near the blackjack game, and one of
the players picked it up.
Alden Marsh was swearing and choking at the same time. Van Deen surged
away from the bar and stepped over to Cultus.
“That’s about all,” he growled. “Let him go.”
“Are you dry-nursin’ this?” asked Cultus curiously.
“Never mind what I’m doin’,” replied Van Deen harshly. “When I tell yuh
to let him loose, I mean what I say.”
“There’s a funny thing about me,” said Cultus in a conversational tone,
“I hardly ever pay any attention to what I’m told.”
“Well, this is once yuh will,” declared Van Deen, his eyes hardening.
Cultus started to raise his open hand, as though to spank the luckless
Marsh, and Van Deen made a grab at his wrist. But Van Deen’s clutching
hand missed, the open hand snapped shut, described a short arc and
landed square on Van Deen’s chin.
It was a downward punch, not travelling over twelve inches, but it
knocked Van Deen flat on his face. Cultus whirled Alden Marsh around,
started him towards the doorway on the run, and sent him sprawling out
in the street in the dust. Van Deen was getting to his feet when Cultus
came back in, his eyes still blank from the punch, his mouth sagging a
little. Cultus watched him closely. He knew Van Deen was a dangerous
man; it was written all over him.
Slowly the blank expression faded and a look of understanding came to
his eyes. He looked keenly at Cultus as he masticated carefully, testing
his jaw. The room was very quiet. Then, “All right,” he said huskily.
“You win this time. I wasn’t lookin’ for anythin’ like that. That’s a
good one, stranger--and I’ll remember it.”
He walked past Cultus and went outside, where he found Alden Marsh
sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, crying bitterly. Whisky and
humiliation had him down.
“C’mon, you damned baby!” snorted Van Deen. “We’re goin’ home.”
“I’m goin’ back and kill that homely--uh----” Alden searched his
vocabulary for the proper words.
“Yeah, you are, like hell! C’mon, before he spanks yuh. Next time you
want to make fun of anythin’, pick somethin’ easy. C’mon, before I spank
yuh myself.”
“Yo’re afraid of him,” accused Alden hotly.
“Listen to me,” said Van Deen. “You may be Kendall Marsh’s son, and you
may be drunk, but you shut yore trap before I forget all that hogwash
and tie yuh in a knot.”
“Oh, all right, Butch. We’re good friends. C’mon, I’ll go with yuh.”
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in a week,” as they walked
out to their horses.
“Who was that feller, Butch?”
“That feller?” Butch examined his latigo critically. “That’s the feller
who can hit hard in a short space than anybody I ever met.”
“But what’s his name?”
“I don’t know what it is, but it’ll be Methuselah before he ever gets me
in reach of that right fist again. I thought the roof fell in on me.”
Cultus Collins did not seem greatly concerned. He massaged the knuckles
of his right hand for a few moments, permitting himself a slow, lazy
grin, and looked around the room. The blackjack players looked at each
other, wondering just a little who this man might be, and resumed their
game.
“Mind havin’ a little drink on the house?” asked the bartender.
“If you’ve got a little cool water,” said Cultus seriously. “I’m kinda
dry.”
The bartender filled a tall glass and watched Cultus drain it.
“That was Butch Van Deen you hit,” offered the bartender. “The other
feller was Kendall Marsh’s son.”
“Butch Van Deen, eh? Is he a native around here?”
“No, he ain’t been here long. I heard that he’s from south Texas, or
down around there. Most of the Triangle X outfit are from down thataway,
and there ain’t none of ’em been here long. Kendall Marsh bought out the
Triangle X, yuh know. I suppose that’s how his kid is in with the gang.
He wants to be a reg’lar heller.”
“That’s quite an ambition for a kid,” seriously. “His pa ought to spank
him.”
“That’s right. Do yuh know I’ve been lookin’ at yuh ever since yuh came
in. I’ve seen yuh somewhere, but I can’t quite figure out where it was.”
“My name’s Collins.”
“Well, holee-e-e gosh! Say! I used to tend bar in Yuma. Ain’t you Cultus
Collins?”
“That’s what they call me.”
“Well, well! My name’s Oscar Link. They used to call me ‘Missin’,’ down
in Yuma. I tended bar in the Quien Sabe place for a year. I’ve seen you
in there lotsa times. Ain’t it a small world?”
“Ain’t very big,” smiled Cultus. “I reckon I remember you, Oscar.”
“Well, I remember you. I’ve been here almost a year, and I’m sure glad
to see yuh.”
They shook hands across the bar. The girl who had thrown the slipper
recovered it from the blackjack table, and came over to the bar. She was
a tall girl, with olive skin and jet black hair, rather pretty in a
dissipated way.
“I didn’t throw that slipper very straight,” she said to Cultus, “but my
intentions were good. I’d like to have seen Marsh spanked.”
“I’m much obliged, even if the throw was a little wild,” smiled Cultus.
“Oh, you’re welcome. I thought there was going to be trouble for a
minute. Better look out for Van Deen.”
“Is he a bad actor?” asked Cultus.
“They say he is; I don’t know him very well.”
“Della here just came back yesterday,” explained the bartender. “She was
away for--how long was it, Dell?”
“Oh, seven or eight months. Seven months, I guess. I worked here quite a
while.”
“This man’s name is Collins,” explained the bartender. “Me and him was
old friends down in Yuma, Dell; and he drinks plain water.”
“I don’t blame him,” she smiled. “Well, I’ve got to practise a while.”
She walked back to the platform and joined the other girls.
“Pretty good kid,” observed the bartender. “A couple of fellers got
stuck on her and shot it out one night. One got killed and the other was
sent up for second degree murder; but he’s out again. Feller by the name
of Blaze Nolan. He killed Ben Kelton.”
“One of the Kelton family over at the mouth of the Pass?”
“A son. He was a wild devil. This Blaze Nolan was engaged to his
sister.”
Cultus squinted thoughtfully. A man engaged to Jane Kelton, and fighting
over this dance-hall girl.
“Dell pulled her freight ahead of the trial,” said the bartender. “They
wanted her for a witness, but they didn’t find her. Now she’s back here
and so is Blaze Nolan, but I don’t reckon they’ve met. Blaze is livin’
down at the Circle M. I knowed Blaze pretty well, and he’s all right.
Jist made one of them well-known mistakes, I reckon.”
“It does happen,” said Cultus slowly. “I’ve met the Kelton family.”
“Nice folks. Harry is a little wild. I ain’t never met the girl, but
I’ve seen her. Good lookin’, y’betcha. Yo’re goin’ to be around here a
while, ain’t yuh, Cultus?”
“I don’t know, Oscar. Mebby a few days.”
“Well, look out for Van Deen. As far as that’s concerned, look out for
Alden Marsh, if yuh don’t want to get bit from behind.”
“Thanks.”
Cultus walked back down to the livery stable, where he questioned the
stable keeper regarding the saddle horses in the Medicine Tree range,
but the man was positive that none of the cowboys rode a tall, gray
horse.
“They don’t all stable their broncs,” he said. “They’d rather save that
four-bits.”
“I guess I’m on the wrong trail,” observed Cultus, as he walked back to
the hotel and stretched out on his bed for a few hours of much needed
rest.