“Can he?”
The Kid shook his head slowly. He was willing to be led now. Solomon
went into the other room. Bush rolled a cigaret, while the Piegan Kid
pinched himself in a tender spot and wondered deeply.
Sol came slowly back, carrying a large bill-fold. Bush blew a thin
stream of smoke toward the ceiling and looked important. Hadn’t he
engineered the deal all the way through? He turned to the Kid.
“I knowed yuh as soon as yuh hit town. Yore letter said to watch for a
black-and-white pinto bronc.”
“Oh,” said the Kid softly, and watched Solomon Kane strip off five
bills. They were for one thousand dollars each; and each one was a
tissue from the heart of Solomon Kane. The Kid took them. They felt
crisp and new, probably for the reason that few thousand dollar bills
are handled enough to wear off the crispness.
Solomon Kane swallowed hard and sat down heavily. He had often collected
his pound of flesh, but this was the first time he had ever gambled with
such an ante as that. Bush looked at him with a sneer. What was five
thousand--to Bush Cleveland?
The Kid shuffled the bills and waited for some one to start talking.
Solomon seemed unable to do anything except breathe heavily. Finally
he turned to Bush and said--
“You tell ’im, Bush.”
Bush lighted a cigaret and grew important again. He looked with pity
upon Solomon Kane and turned to the Kid.
“This is like I told yuh in that letter. All yuh got to do is bump off
a guy. _Sabe?_ Name’s Winters. Packs a gun all the time and won’t let
nobody on his claims. All yuh got to do is go across near his tunnel.
He’ll come out and try to run a sandy on yuh.
“You don’t _sabe_ the old coot, and yuh fill him with lead. Everybody
knows he’s always threatenin’ folks with his gun. Yo’re a stranger
around here, and you shoots in self-defense. Then yuh can vamoose if
yuh feel like it, or yuh can stay innocentlike and have the jury clear
yuh.”
“And don’t seem to know us,” cut in Solomon wisely.
“Thasall right,” said Bush. “You give him a assay certificate, Sol. If
anybody seen him come here we can say he brings some samples and waits
for a report.”
“And you keep that report by you,” ordered Solomon. “You should have
that for my alibi, y’ understand?”
The Kid nodded. He wasn’t any too keen-minded; but he knew what they
were paying him to do.
Bush took a piece of paper and drew a rough map to show the Kid where
Winters’ place was located. Then Solomon tore up the paper and threw
it inside a furnace.
“Yuh can go to it any time yuh feel that-away,” said Bush. “Sooner the
better.”
The Kid nodded and looked at Solomon, who seemed to have shrunk
considerable. That five thousand had reduced him physically, it seemed.
The Kid licked his lip and half-smiled down at the bills.
“You want a ree-seet?”
Solomon’s mouth opened widely and closed slowly, as he shook his head.
“Nossir! Between us there is only honor. I pay you and I expect you to
do my instructions.”
The Kid put the bills into his pocket. Solomon watched them disappear,
and in his heart grew a great fear that they would never come back
dragging the big interest.
“I depend on your honor,” stated Solomon slowly. “I hope you play
square, and I--I----”
Solomon wiped the moisture from his brow with a moist palm.
“You play square with Solomon Kane and you never lose by it.”
“Five thousand ain’t much,” said Bush importantly. “You shoot square
with us we’ll make it worth yore while, y’betcha.”
Solomon stared at Bush wonderingly.
“You should mind your own business, Bush! Ain’t I made it worth his
while? You think I am the mint? Eh?”
He turned to the Kid.
“You got paid, ain’t you? That’s my top price. Now I make out one assay
certificate.”
With trembling hands Solomon Kane made out a certificate. It showed the
date, number of samples, and checked off what the sample was tested for.
From force of habit he wrote--Gold; no trace.
The Kid folded it up and put it in his pocket.
“All through?” asked the Kid.
“Yes,” nodded Solomon and held out a ham-like hand.
“You shake on the deal, mister?”
The Kid did not see the hand. He shifted his gun just a trifle as he
hitched up his belt.
“Glad of it,” he remarked. “This place stinks.”
“Acid,” smiled Bush.
“Not--entirely,” replied the Kid.
* * * * *
The Piegan Kid got a room in a small hotel. He was not in the habit of
renting a hotel room; but he wanted a place where he could be alone and
think. It was a big effort for him to think, and he needed plenty of
time and complete solitude.
He locked the door and sat down on the bed. He took out the five bills
and examined them. One thousand dollars each! He tried to visualize
what five thousand dollars amounted to; but after it got past a hundred
he was groping into space. Now, if it had been about eighty dollars he
could have understood. He had eighty dollars once, and he could
remember what it bought. Why, one of those pieces of paper would buy at
least twenty saddles. That meant that he could buy a hundred saddles.
He squinted around the small room, trying to visualize what one hundred
fifty-dollar saddles would look like. It was nerve-racking.
From a contemplation of his vast wealth his mind went back to the men
who had given it to him. As far as the Kid could see it was a gift.
There was no question but that they wanted him to kill a man in
return for the money; but the Kid wasn’t the right man. He had begun
to suspect the man who had dealt from the bottom of the deck.
The pinto had been the mark of identification. The Kid laughed a
soundless laugh. It was a good joke. He wondered if he ought to go and
kill this man Winters. No, that wouldn’t be right either. He wasn’t the
man who was supposed to do the deed. Anyway, the Kid wasn’t a murderer.
He rolled up the five bills and put them back in his pocket. Suppose
somebody held him up? He took them out and hesitated. He took off a
boot and slipped them into the toe. It made an awkward lump against
his toes. No, that wasn’t a good hiding-place. If somebody hit him
on the head, with the intent to rob, they would most surely take off
his boots. He removed the bills.
He thought of hiding them under the straw-tick of the bed. That was a
bad idea. He looked at the carpet, but it was threadbare. Anyway,
there was danger of a fire in a building like that. His hat-band might
suffice; but there is always danger of losing one’s hat. Finally a
smile came over his face. He knew where the safest place on his person
was--and it was the last place where a robber would ever think of
looking.
After making his cache, the Piegan Kid jingled his heels down the narrow
hall, crossed the street to his horse and rode out of town. No one had
given him a second glance. He was just the ordinary cowpuncher type, and
Micaville was used to cowpunchers.
Solomon Kane and Bush Cleveland had seen him take his horse from the
rack, and their faces were glued to the dusty pane of glass, as they
watched him leave in the direction of the Jennie and Joe.
“He ain’t losin’ no time,” remarked Bush.
Solomon’s chin sagged sadly.
“He should be quick for five thousand--and there is nothing between us
but honor.”
“You didn’t want no receipt,” reminded Bush.
Solomon sniffed mournfully.
“Just honor, Bush. Nobody can show a jury your name on a receipt, when
you do business strictly on honor. My honor is fine, but--Bush, how did
he strike you--like he was honest?”
Bush licked the edge of a cigaret paper carefully and shaped the smoke
before he said--
“Sol, that old Winters must be a good shot. Suppose he kills this
gun-fighter.”
“My ----!” gasped Solomon. “Why think such pleasant things? Ain’t you
never thought of that before I gave up my five thousand? Why not? Why--”
Solomon grew inarticulate.
“We’ll hope for the best,” soothed Bush.
“Hope!” squealed Solomon. “Men with brains don’t have to hope. I listen
to you----”
“You talk like this feller was already dead,” sneered Bush. “Maybe he
won’t even see Winters.”
Solomon stared at Bush for a moment and then seemed to fairly pounce
upon him in a frenzy. It was like a grizzly bear attacking a sheep. It
wasn’t a fight--just an attack. Solomon lifted Bush by his shoulders
and shook him loose from his cigaret. Then he deposited Bush into a
chair with such vigor that the underpinning of the chair gave way in a
glorious crash.
“Sot!” roared Solomon. “Thinker! Some day you ‘maybe’ me too much and
I kill you! Shut up! Don’t talk. Inside me it is all riled up. Five
thousand dollars! Maybe I fire you, Bush--maybe.”
Bush got painfully to his feet and cast around for his cigaret, which
had been ground to powder under one of Solomon’s big feet. Bush showed
no animosity toward Solomon. It was not the first time Solomon had let
his temper get the best of him.
Solomon watched him roll a fresh cigaret, and when it was rolled he
lighted a match and held it for Bush.
“You know, Bush,” said Solomon softly, “you know I am a friend to you--a
good friend, Bush.”
“Y’betcha,” nodded Bush. “We get along fine, Sol.”
* * * * *
Old Cale Winters had just come to the mouth of his tunnel, smarting from
a verbal encounter with his wife. He was forced, secretly, to admit that
she was right. He had put in many months at hard labor, and there was
nothing to show for it, except a tunnel. There was very little demand
for tunnels.
Their supply of money was about exhausted, and their food supply was
running very low. It began to look as if they were going to have to
move to a more productive place. Anyway, a low-grade quartz-mine was
of no value to a poor man.
It meant that he would have to give up his claims, unless he wanted to
come back each year and do the assessment work. It was not a pleasant
outlook. He was scratching a piece of quartz with a misshapen
thumb-nail, when his daughter, Jennie, came up to him.
Jennie had been a listener to the confab, and, while she indorsed her
mother’s views, she felt sorry for her dad. He was getting old, and he
had looked very tired when he left the shack; so she had come to cheer
him.
She sat down on one of the handles of an ore-filled wheelbarrow. Old
Cale squinted at her. He suddenly realized that Jennie’s clothes were
not exactly of fine quality nor style. She had never had a chance to
be like other girls.
“Jen, I reckon we’ll foller ma’s advice.”
Jennie nodded slowly.
“Maybe it’s best, dad. You’re working yourself to death, and there don’t
seem to be anything in sight.”
“I ain’t worryin’ about me.”
The old man shook his head.
“I reckon I ain’t been square with you and the old woman. Women folks
kinda hankers for dew-dads and plenty of their own kind to talk with.
I--I reckon we’ll vamoose to some place where the old man can pick up
some money. I plumb hate to leggo this prop’ty--especially when I feel
that Sol Kane hankers for it. Whatcha reckon he wants of it, Jen?”
“He might work it, dad. Solomon Kane has plenty of money.”
Cale Winters shook his head vehemently. “Nossir! He ain’t shootin’ at no
three-dollar ore, he ain’t! If I only knowed----”
Jennie lifted her head and glanced down toward their cabin.
“Who is that, dad?” she asked.
A man, riding a pinto horse, had stopped at the cabin door and was
talking to Mrs. Winters. He turned and rode slowly toward the tunnel.
Cale Winters shifted his pistol so that it lay across his lap. He had
mentally given up his claims; but he was still willing to protect
them.
The Piegan Kid rode up close to them and got off his horse. There was
nothing secretive about his approach. He looked at Jennie and then at
the old man, who was squinting narrowly at him.
None of the three spoke. After a moment’s hesitation the Kid sat down
on the edge of the cut, across from the old man, removed his sombrero
and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Kinda hot,” he remarked softly.
“Uh-huh,” grunted old Cale Winters. “Whatcha want?”
“I heard,” said the Kid slowly, “I heard that you was kinda mean about
folks crossin’ yore claim.”
“Yuh did?” grunted the old man. “Well, yuh heard right.”
“I s’pect so,” agreed the Kid absently. “I came.”
Jennie stared at him. It seemed absurd that any man would come just to
test her father’s threats. Still, this man did not appear to be of the
type who would pick a quarrel with an old man. Old Cale Winters got
slowly to his feet and pointed across the hills.
“Young feller, you better move on. I said I wouldn’t stand for no
trespassin’ and I meant it. Vamoose _pronto!_”
The Kid shook his head and picked at the rosette on his chap-pocket. He
was not a bit disturbed at the old man’s belligerent attitude. Finally
he looked up.
“Know a feller named Sol?”
Jennie and her father exchanged glances and both looked at the Kid.
“Sol Kane?” asked the old man.
“I dunno. Assayer.”
“That’s him! What about him?”