DESERT DUEL.
The car with Mike and the Kid pulled into Nogales about dawn and the
suave, high-priced attorney unloaded them near a little house on the
outskirts. There was a light burning in the kitchen and as they walked
around from the front the Kid said, with a grin, "Kentuck will be
willin' to give a rattler the first two bites after he hears this sad
tale of woe."
The neatly dressed, solidly built, middle-aged man, who looked like men
seen around city clubs, looked up from the solitaire game, but did not
stop playing.
"I know about it," Kentuck said, quietly. "Are the boys all dead?"
"We didn't get a chance to go over and hold a post-mortem," answered
the Kid, with a yawn, "being in conference with three or four rangers.
From where we stood they looked plenty dead."
"Who turned you?"
"A spig--one of Pedro's men."
"Any other cars on the road?"
"We didn't meet any. Langdon took off with a couple of yellow gentlemen
just before we pulled out," the Kid replied.
"How much snow and chandoo were you packing?"
"About sixty grand, all told."
"That's not so good," said Kentuck. "The chief will be very much fussed
up, I'm afraid."
"Yeah?" The Kid was apparently not much impressed. "Well, I'll hit the
hay. If you want me I'll be over to Francisco y Herrara de Gonzales's
_pulperia_, where I have what is known as chambers. _Adios, amigo hasta
mañana._"
"How long has the Kid been up on this end?" Kentuck demanded of Mike,
after the Kid had gone.
"Three weeks now. Clark told me that he's a game kid, but reckless as
hell." Mike's mean little eyes tightened as his crafty brain, trained
in race-track double and triple crossing, began to work. "Follow this
through, Kentuck. Dolores Gonzales, the spig that the Kid thinks is his
sweetie, is tricking him--her real sweetie is Juan Martinez."
"Well, what then?"
"This Juan was a rurale; and not long ago he was tellin' me that a
United States deputy marshal named Beardsley saved his bacon for him.
The Kid is a great bird for wah, wah stuff with the dames.
"Get it, Kentuck?"
"Sounds like from Evers to Tinker to Chance," said Kentuck, with a
cold smile, then he played in silence for a little while. Suddenly he
looked up and said, "Take the Kid for a ride."
"When, right now?" asked Mike.
"The sooner the better. Better get some sleep, Mike."
"And a rod," answered Mike, rising. "I got mine taken off me by them
damn rangers. Say, Kentuck, I want to get a ranger named Earpe, Jimmie
Earpe--will you give me a hand to frame on him?"
"Why, sure, only you must want to die. They're a good outfit to let
alone, those Earpes. You kill one, and you've only got started. There's
four or five more coming up from behind all the time. They're too heavy
for you, Mike. Better lay off."
"He called me a mangy little coyote," answered Mike, his little eyes
venomous as a cobra's, "and I'm goin' to get him."
"Fair enough," said Kentuck, going back to his game. "I'll help you, of
course."
* * * * *
"Where the hell was you-all the mornin'?" demanded Mike, when he
finally located the Kid in one of the _pulperias_.
"Why, _pobrecito loco_, where else would I be but with Dolores
Gonzales?"
"What's that you called me?" demanded Mike, suspiciously, "the first
part." His Spanish consisted of two or three oaths.
"Why, it's a sort of a pet phrase which means 'poor little crazed one.'
You must be, not knowing where I generally am. What's doing?"
"Kentuck wants us to drive out to the ranch and make sure that Langdon
landed O. K."
"Yeah? He said last night that Langdon reported in. Well, it's nothing
in my young life. I'd just as soon drive out in the country as not.
Whose car are we going to take?"
Mike, who was a fastidious little man about his clothes, had stooped to
brush some dust off his trousers leg when he made his statement about
Langdon, and had missed the slight tightening of the Kid's eyes. When
he straightened up it wasn't there for him to see.
"I got to get me a gat," the Kid said, lighting a cigarette.
"Kentuck gave me one last night," answered Mike. "We don't need any
gats along. Them damn cops might be around and look us over. If they
found gats on us, maybe-so our mouthpiece couldn't spring us this time.
They got us pegged as something else besides tourists, boy. I'm going
to plant the one Kentuck gave me in the seat stuffin'. Let's go. We can
take that car of Kentuck's."
"You get her, Mike. I'll go and get me another bonnet. This one's too
heavy."
"Hurry up, then. I'll pick you up in front of Ortiz's place."
They drove out toward the Atoscos Mountains, through Tubac and across
the little curving branch of the Santa Cruze River, and kept going
up the eastern slope of the foothills. Mike was driving the powerful
roadster absent-mindedly, smoking one cigarette after another.
It was burning hot, with absolutely no breeze, and the Kid sat with
the collar of his soft white silk shirt open, his left arm along the
seat, his hand just behind Mike's head. He was singing little snatches
of songs and watching the ever varying desert with eager young eyes
that noted every movement of the "desert people." Suddenly he stopped
singing and said:
"How do you like this game, Mike?"
"What game?" demanded Mike, coming back from where he mentally had
Jimmie Earpe on his knees begging for mercy.
"Why, this gay buccaneer business, being land pirates and bad men and
everything, like Sir Henry Morgan. Do you get a kick out of it?"
"Aw, fer cripe's sake," Mike snarled out of the corner of his mouth.
"You're goofy, feller. I'm in it for the jack, nothin' else."
"Yeah? The way you talk out of the corner of your mouth, Mike, leads me
to believe you been in stir. Have you been in stir, Mike?"
"Who wants to know?" grinned Mike.
"Why, I do. I'm your buddy, am I not, Mike?"
"Sure," answered Mike, turning to the left of the trail up a little
cañon. "Regular buddies."
The Kid laughed, and after a moment or so asked softly:
"What are you stopping here for, Mike?"
"Hear that canary? I've been hearin' it ever since we started. I told
Kentuck yesterday he had one in this damn car.
"Get out and see if you can find it, will you, Kid? I'll run the
engine, maybe-so you can locate it. I hate like hell to drive with a
squeak."
"I don't mind it," said the Kid lazily, "and you needn't bother about
it, Mike. You're not going to hear it any longer."
* * * * *
Mike's left hand, which had been down at his side, stopped abruptly in
the pocket where it had slipped with the ease and quickness of a snake
in its hole. Once again in twenty-four hours he felt a cold, round
little circle pressing against the top of his spine.
"You poor fool," the Kid was saying softly, his body in the same
position as before, his head turned a little toward Mike, his left arm
now a little bent--"you poor ignorant little fool! As wise a guy as
you think you are, to let a man ride along with his left arm back of
you! If you move, Mike, you're dead. This .25-caliber steel-jacketed
automatic bullet isn't so very big, but I've got her where she can
go through what little brains you pack. Sit still, Mike, and listen,
so's you can tell all the pretty angels--or, rather, all the little
imps--just how come you got yours."
"Aw, hell," sneered Mike, "cut her loose, feller, an' quit that damn
kiddin'. I ain't afraid to go. Cut her loose if you feel that way."
"Scarfaced Tony Mareno taught me how to pack a little automatic up my
sleeve on a spring, Mike. You know, the lad that Federal agent knocked
off last year. It's like one of those telephone things that stretches
out. I'm telling you this, Mike, so your crooked soul won't go to hell
worrying how come."
"Doin' a little torturin' first, ain't you?" sneered Mike. "Go ahead
and talk your head off. You ain't got me goin' yet."
"That'll be all, Mike. Get ready to say good morning, God--Oh, damn it
all, I can't pull trigger with you sitting still that way. Draw your
gun, Mike; this is too much like killing a baby."
"I won't," said Mike calmly. "You would pull then, and I'd have no
chance."
The Kid's reckless laugh echoed among the hills. "It's a stalemate," he
said. "I can't kill you like this. Mike, did you ever hear of a duel--a
regular duel?"
"Yeah," answered the game little gangster, "I seen two fellows fight
one once down in the Argentine."
"Well, only one of us can drive out of here, Mike. I could kill you,
take this car and pull for the north--if I weren't born and bred
otherwise. Here is what we'll do. Listen carefully now. You take your
left hand out of your pocket and your right from the wheel and raise
them up over your head. I'll take your gat as soon as you raise your
hands, then you get out and walk the forty paces.
"I'll come after you until I've stepped off twenty; then I'll put your
rod down on the ground and walk back. When I holler 'Halt,' you turn
and walk back to your gat. I'll have mine on the ground also. When I
say 'Go,' we'll help ourselves from then on. Got it, Mike?"
Mike's answer was to raise his hands.
The Kid naturally couldn't see the cruel, exultant gleam in his little
pig-like eyes.
* * * * *
"That's the boy," said the Kid, reaching in Mike's left pocket and
taking out the automatic. "You haven't another on you, by any chance?"
He slapped Mike's shirt under the armpits and felt his trousers legs.
"I ain't got no gun," growled Mike. "You're givin' me a break, Kid;
I'll play square."
"I doubt if you know the meaning of the word," answered the Kid. "I'm
the one that's playing square--with myself. I ought to kill you like a
rat, and I know it. Go on, get started."
Mike walked the forty paces, stopped when the Kid called, turned and
walked slowly back to where his gun lay on the hot alkali.
The Kid stood, a smile on his young face, the little .25 caliber
automatic at his feet. This was a bigger thrill than he had ever
experienced. This watching a man walk slowly toward a gun and knowing
that in another half moment he would have it in his hand, spitting out
death. This was the spirit in which the knights of old used to fight.
Mike reached the gun and halted, his right hand spread out like a claw.
"Ready?" called the Kid cheerfully.
"Wait a minute. I'm as game a guy as you are, Kid; you ain't got an
even break with that little .25 from there. You pick your gat up, and
I'll walk back a little. You come and get my rod and drop it again ten
paces closer. Then we'll go."
The Kid laughed. "Mike, you've some good blood in you somewhere. I
never thought of that. All right, start back."
When the operation of getting the duelists to within thirty feet of
each other had been completed and once more they faced each other, the
Kid again called:
"Ready?"
"Yeah," called back Mike, an evil sneer on his twisted lips. "I'm--"
His right hand flashed back of his neck, then out, and his arm
straightened. A flicker of steel like a lightning flash passed between
him and the Kid, shoulder high, and lost itself in the Kid's chest, in
spite of the instantaneous swerve of his body as his eye caught the
motion.
Mike stood and watched the body as it pitched forward.
"There's another thing I learned in the Argentine, Mr. Wise Guy Kid,"
he said. "That's as good as that sleeve stuff."
He went to where the Kid lay, his face to the hot sand, and turned him
over with his foot. The deadly throwing knife of the tropics was buried
to the hilt in the Kid's gallant young heart, and he had met the great
adventure like the officer and gentleman he had once been.
"Not so bad," he said as he stooped to draw out the knife. "I'm still
good."
The whine of a high-powered rifle bullet came to his ears as his hat
jumped from his head. A second later and he felt a searing pain in his
left shoulder. He straightened up without the dagger and ran for the
car, the bullet-whines following him, little spurts of sand jumping up
around him. He made it, threw himself in, started the motor and turned.
As he did he heard the _thud, thud_ of bullets against the car body. As
he stepped on the gas a bullet grazed his ear, making a neat hole in
the windshield, then no more, as the car leaped down the cañon.
[Illustration: _Mike sprinted for the car, bullet-whines following him,
and sand spurting up all around him._]
"Magazine empty," Mike grunted aloud. "This is sure my lucky day.
Wonder who the hell that was and how much he seen?"