THE NIGHT OF JUNE FIFTEENTH
ELIZABETH MUNDY and her daughter had gone to the city on “the inside”
of the range. Joshua Cole moved about his little cabin with a listless
air when not wrapped up in his studies. Five days had passed since he
waved good-by to Madge as the six-horse stage took up the long trip
from Ragtown to the desert town of Spur. Joshua was not going East. He
had trailed down from the summit of Spyglass Mountain one evening to
find a vigorous fire blazing at one corner of his cabin, and had heard
the thud of hoofs galloping off into the dusk. Five buckets of water
from the near-by well had saved his cabin and his precious books and
papers, but the owner now realized that Sweet meant business and he
dared not leave the country. Even as Felix Wolfgang had planned.
The first time that Joshua rode to Ragtown for the mail after Madge’s
departure he encountered California Bill. The two seated themselves in
a remote corner of The Silver Dollar, and Joshua told of the bullet
holes in his cabin roof, of one shattered window, of the fire of pitchy
pine splinters laid by horsemen who had galloped away into the dusk,
and of the rifleman on a shelf of Spyglass Mountain.
“And now,” he finished, “what’s your advice, old Bill? I’ll respect
it--even act on it--as I would the advice of no other man I know.”
“Pin the medal here, Tony,” chuckled Bill, tapping his broad breast
with a stubby forefinger. “Pin ’er here, an’ listen to words o’
wisdom.”
“Shoot!”
“Do nothin’ but stick and watch yer prop’ty, an’ leave th’ rest to that
interestin’, quaint, an’ exclusive character known as California Bill.”
“But, Bill, I don’t want to foist my troubles on you. I’ll do the
doing. I merely want advice.”
“An’ ye’ve got ’er, son--ye’ve got ’er. I’m th’ only man in these here
mountains that c’n handle this here deal. Funny--but I am, seems. So
it’s up to me to handle her. I know Lee Sweet like I know my off lead
mule, an’ it’s a toss-up whichun’s the ornriest o’ th’ two. Lee’s th’
stubbornest, but th’ mule’s ears are th’ longest. Th’ mule’s meaner
than Lee Sweet, but Lee Sweet he thinks he’s th’ meanest. However, he
thinks wrong. I’m s’prised at Lee. Ye see, I know ’im so well. ’Tain’t
like Lee a-tall to act thataway. So, knowin’ that, I draw certain
conclusions, based on certain things I’ve witnessed here of late. So
keep ridin’ wide an’ pretty, Tony, an’ don’t strangle th’ biscuit--an’
leave th’ rest to me. How’s Shanty Madge makin’ out these days?”
Thus abruptly did California Bill close the matter of Sweet’s
persecution, intimating that he would attend to everything and relieve
Joshua of all worry.
“Why, didn’t you know?” Joshua returned. “She and her mother have gone
on the inside for a few weeks--to visit the Montgomerys.”
“To visit th’ Montgomerys, eh?”--and the keen slate eyes of
the old freighter studied Joshua from under their dense black
_cheval-de-frise_. “Jack Montgomery in th’ mountains these days?”
“No, he’s still in the city.”
California intermittently separated and spread his thick fingers on the
table before him, watching the operation thoughtfully.
“Did ye ever ask Madge to marry ye, Tony?” he asked suddenly.
Joshua’s face flamed red. “I--I-- Come to think of it, I don’t believe
I ever did, Bill.”
Bill snorted softly and ceased his finger exercise to absently toy with
one of the fluffy little white rabbit tails that puffed out above the
lobe of each of his ears.
“You’re a hell of a lady’s man,” he observed disgustedly. “Say, Tony,
if ye let that dude of a Jack Montgomery get Shanty Madge away from
ye, I’ll--I’ll-- I’m off ye f’r life, that’s all! Maybe ye savvy Mars,
but ye don’t know anything about Venus. Ye’re loco in th’ head when it
comes to the _mujeres_.”
“I’ve let Madge see what I am,” Joshua said. “If she wants me, she--
Well, it’s up to her.”
“Up to her _my eye_! Ye gotta crowd ’em, _amigo_--ye gotta crowd ’em
right up ag’in th’ fence. They like it.”
“How do you know they do? You’re a great one to talk.”
“Oh, I’ve had my little spells o’ wranglin’ with ’em. I’ll bet ye a
strip o’ whang leather Jack Montgomery’s crowded her.”
“He’s asked her to marry him, if that’s what you mean.”
“And she ain’t done it yet, has she? No, she ain’t. An’ why? ’Cause
she’s waitin’ for you to buck up an’ show a little savvy. Say, Tony, ye
make me sick as a drenched mule.”
“I’ve tried to be a little dignified in the matter,” Joshua defended.
“I’ll tell th’ cockeyed world ye have!” scoffed California Bill.
“Dignified! God! Who ever heard o’ love bein’ dignified? Say, that’s
th’ best one I ever heard. Nobody on earth but you could have sprung
that, Tony. If there’s anything on earth that _ain’t_ dignified, it’s
love. A man c’n get drunk an’ fall in a mud puddle, an’ get up an’
walk off dignified. A pallbearer might stub his toe an’ sprawl ’round
till even the corpse laughed, but he’d be dignified ’longside a real
he-man in love. Say, ye’re a reg’lar howl!”
“It’s strange,” mused Joshua, a little stiffly, “that you failed to
call my attention to all this until Madge was out of the mountains.”
“Hell’s afire, man!--I thought it was all settled between you two long
ago! I never dreamed ye was such a sucker!”
“She longs for money,” said Joshua. “She halfway wants me to give up my
astronomy, and I can’t do that.”
“Money my foot! What’d she buy with it? Mules? She longs for love, and
all she wants ye to give up is a little love-talk.”
Joshua looked doubtfully at Bill, then down at the table and blushed
furiously.
“I’ve already called her dear twice,” he made announcement, “and once
I--I put my arm around her.”
California Bill roared and pounded the table with his heavy fist. “_Muy
bueno!_” he applauded. “_Hi-yu skookum!_ He called her dear twice! Oh,
Lord! And once he put his arm around her--seems! Sufferin’ snakes,
Tony, don’t ye know how funny ye are? Ye’re funny just like a toad--who
don’t know he’s funny a-tall!”
But Bill changed his tactics when he saw the brooding look in Joshua’s
eyes.
“I’ll tell ye what ye do,” he said, laying a stubby hand on his
friend’s shoulder. “You write Madge right away an’ let her know it’s
turned out ye dassent go East; an’ if I’m not mistaken she’ll be
lopin’ back soon’s she’s bought her trinkets. An’ then if ye don’t
start a riot with her--get right down to business an’ make he-man love
to her, th’ fightin’, faunchin’, rarin’, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer
kind--why, then ye deserve to lose her. Now go on home an’ write to
her so’s ye c’n get yer letter off to-morrow. I’m plumb disgusted with
ye--seems. Go on--an’ leave Lee Sweet to a man that savvies men _and_
women. Wait a minute!... I’ll buy th’ drinks before ye go.”
* * * * *
California Bill continued to sit at the table long after Joshua had
ridden off on his dapple gray. He took a stiff drink of whisky now and
then for the good of his soul, and rolled many brown-paper cigarettes.
He kept his sharp eyes on the ever-growing crowd before the bar, until
Lee Sweet, a little the worse for drink, staggered in with three of his
punchers behind him. Then Bill left the place and went to The Golden
Eagle.
In The Golden Eagle he lounged at the bar for a time, talking with
acquaintances, then found a table and sat alone. His shrewd eyes
roved frequently to Slim Wolfgang, presiding over the stud game, his
green-celluloid eyeshield drawn low over his eyes, his coat off,
displaying the sleeves of a garish silk shirt, his billiard-cloth vest
and golden buttons making him as conspicuous as a parrot in a cage of
hawks.
Bill saw Slim’s girl when she danced with some heavy-footed
construction stiff, watched her while she hung over Slim’s chair, or
ogled some one to buy her a drink for the good of the house and her own
percentage.
California was thinking deeply. Old man-hunter that he was, he was
capable of putting two and two together, and was not a stranger to
the delicate art of deduction. Long ago he had decided that no mere
freak of chance had brought The Whimperer and Slim Wolfgang to the
country where Joshua Cole was working. And now that Lee Sweet had begun
heckling the new homesteader, Bill was deeply interested in the close
companionship he had of late observed between Wolfgang, Sweet, and the
girl called Winnie the Weeper. Here was a mystery to be solved, and
Bill meant to solve it.
But he was unfortunate that night in that neither Winnie the Weeper
nor Slim Wolfgang made any move to join Lee Sweet. And not once did
the cattleman enter The Golden Eagle. So Bill gave up his quest at
midnight and went to bed, for he must be up early and on his way to
Spur to continue his part in supplying the seemingly insatiable wants
of Demarest, Spruce and Tillou.
After that night, every time that California Bill made Ragtown he
watched for an opportunity to solve the mystery of Felix Wolfgang’s
sojourn there. He hoped to discover the reason by stealing up on the
gambler’s tent when he and Winnie and Sweet were holding a conference.
He had rightly decided that Sweet was merely a tool in the hands of
the parasitical pair, that they were egging him on to harass Joshua in
order to serve their own mysterious ends. Sweet he did not fear, for
he considered him incapable of any serious crime, a big, blustering,
self-important boy who merely needed a spanking.
Then it occurred to Bill that he was on the wrong tack altogether, and
he cursed himself for an idiot. If Winnie and Wolfgang were working
against Joshua through Lee Sweet, Bill would learn nothing by listening
in on a conversation among the three. He must forget Sweet for the time
being, and make an effort to spy on the gambler and his girl when they
were alone.
So he took to loitering about the town until he saw Winnie and Slim
leave The Golden Eagle, when he would steal up in the darkness and
stand silent at the back of their tent, with only the thin canvas
between him and them. Three times he did this, but he heard nothing to
his advantage. And these three times carried the actors in this little
mountain drama well into the month of June, for each of Bill’s trips to
Spur occupied eight days.
Bill was learning nothing from his stealthy spying. He had not once
encountered Joshua during the month and a half that followed Joshua’s
tale of Sweet’s activities. So he did not know whether Sweet had done
anything more against him or not. Sweet was busy with the cattle now,
for the spring drive into the mountains was on. Many herds had already
been brought in and were scattered over the lush meadows, now rank with
succulent feed. Sweet and the greater portion of his vaqueros were on
the desert rounding up the stragglers over a range that extended for
ninety miles. California Bill was about discouraged over the result
of his efforts to help his friend when, on the night of the fifteenth
of June, he stood silent at the back of Wolfgang’s tent and overheard
conversation and certain other sounds that made him cup a thick hand
behind his ear.
Because it was evident from what he heard that Slim Wolfgang and Winnie
the Weeper were packing their trunks in readiness to take the stage for
Spur next morning. And Slim asked Winnie if she remembered what her
ticket from New York to California had cost.
This was sufficient to cause California Bill to clear for action. He
had found out nothing, and now this precious pair were on their way
East in the morning. There was only one thing to be done before it was
too late. Bill stooped and softly began to pull the stakes from the
ground at one corner of the tent. A little later he gently lifted one
canvas wall, gave his body a quick flip, and was inside.
The girl sucked in a scream, turned chalk-white, and stared at him.
Slim Wolfgang wheeled from a trunk that he was strapping, made a
crawling dive for the table, and wheeled again, half crouched, a Colt
revolver leveled at California Bill.
“Well, wot d’youse want in here?” he snarled.
“Son,” said Bill, “don’t point that there thing at me. Put ’er on th’
table. I wanta talk to ye a bit.”
“Talk den, an’ make ’er snappy! Wot d’youse want o’ me?”
“Lay th’ smoke-iron on th’ table, son,” Bill ordered again. “What’s th’
use o’ yer flourishin’ ’er? Ye wouldn’t dast shoot California Bill.
They’d hang ye, come mornin’. Be nice now--_an’_ sensible.”
All the time that he was speaking California Bill had been walking
deliberately toward the gambler. His hands, hanging at his sides, held
no gun. Winnie the Weeper shrank away from him as he neared her, backed
to the bed, and sat down weakly, her trembling legs unable to hold her
any longer. The slate-gray eyes of the old freighter were fixed on the
pale-blue eyes of Felix Wolfgang, and in them was no unkindly light.
But they held a fixity, an unwavering, fearless, purposeful look that
kept the gambler in a statuesque attitude, undecided, deep down in his
heart afraid and hopeless. Slim had fought many battles, with weapons
and without, but always with tramps or gangsters who feared him because
of his cunning and his deadly methods. Never before had an enemy walked
straight up to him, unarmed, and completely ignoring the menace of his
gun. It was new to Slim, and the cold fear gripped him that, even if
he should shoot, this calm, unconcerned old Westerner would in the end
come out the winner. And Slim had much at stake. He did not know that
those hypnotic slate eyes of California Bill had brought many a braver
man than he was to surrender--that Bill was a fatalist, and had faced
many a threatening gun as he now faced this one, convinced that when
his time came to die he would simply die, and that would be the end of
it.
“Wu-wot d’youse want, I’m astin’ youse?” Slim quavered, as Bill stood
within arm’s-length of him; and he was surprised at the break in his
voice and its lack of plug-ugly huskiness.
“Why, that there gun, first,” replied California Bill; and before Slim
knew what had taken place the revolver had been twisted from his hand
and dropped into the freighter’s pocket--but Slim’s wrist still ached.
“There--now that’s a heap better,” Bill said soothingly. “Now le’s set
on th’ bed--you an’ me an’ yer _muchacha_--an’ ye’re gonta tell me all
about why ye’re here, an’ what ye got ag’in my friend, Cole of Spyglass
Mountain.”
“I--”
“Will,” complacently finished Bill, and his powerful fingers suddenly
grasped Slim’s already aching wrist.
Those stubby digits, thick as corncobs, closed down slowly like a vise
closing on a piece of wood.
“I c’n break ’er, son--jest as easy. Now gentle down an’ come to th’
bed with me. We’ll all set together, me in th’ middle, holdin’ onto
both o’ ye friendly like; an’ we’ll talk about Tony an’ yer trip out
West.”
Winnie the Weeper half rose at this, and glanced about, ready to dart
out of the tent before Bill could drag her _maquereau_ to the bedside.
“Look, ma’am,” said Bill; and he flipped his right hand downward as
does a man who has had his hand in mud and rids himself of it. And
nestled in the palm of it the girl saw a stubby .32 automatic pistol,
which theretofore had hung inside Bill’s sleeve, attached to a rubber
band that was bound about his elbow.
“I’m tellin’ ye frankly,” he drawled, “that yer man couldn’t ’a’ shot
me when I was walkin’ on ’im a minute back. I coulda flipped this
gun, dropped, and bored ’im while his bullet was goin’ over my head.
I coulda read in his eye th’ instant he was gonta pull trigger--but
that look didn’t come there. I hate to brag, but this here case
is diff’rent. I’m workin’ for th’ best friend I got. Set down,
ma’am--tha-a-a-at’s right. Now, son--”
And he led the unprotesting gambler to the bed, back upon which the
girl had already sunk and was weeping softly, and sat himself down
between them, with a hand gripping the wrist of each.
“Now we’re all _hi-yu skookum_,” he remarked jocularly. “Let’s have th’
yarn from one end to t’other, an’ le’s don’t make no mistakes.”