THE FACE IN THE WINDOW
Johnny surprised Charlie Paul on the following day by telling him
that they were going to Standing Rock.
“Me still dead man,” the boy said in answer to the question in the
Indian’s eyes. “We stop this side the Rock. Nobody there know I be
in your camp. Mebbe so, come night time, we go into town, play
ghost, mebbe scare some man, eh?”
Charlie grinned and shook his head. “Ah, nah,” he said, “me no
ghost.”
“I be the ghost, Charlie,” Johnny told him. “Gallup paid Tony to git
me. I’m goin’ to play dead now. You go down and git the horses. I be
ready pretty quick.”
This talk of ghosts was “bad medicine” in Charlie’s eyes, but he
agreed, nevertheless, to do as the boy ordered.
The two traveled far from any road, and so slow was their progress
that night found them still some miles from town.
Low hills came close to the northern limits of Standing Rock. The
Indian knew a spot among them where he decided to camp. It was a
little after nine o’clock before they reached it.
“Leave our stuff here, Charlie,” Johnny advised. “We eat, then we go
see Gallup.”
The Indian answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He favored more
direct action than this business of playing ghost. His way, under
the circumstances, would have been to pot Aaron as he slept.
Johnny thumbled his gun just as they were ready to leave. Charlie
smiled at this. Maybe the night held something of interest, after
all.
“Ghost no have gun,” he laughed mockingly.
“No,” Johnny chuckled. “All the same I take him. You watch sharp
till we cross railroad.”
He knew that once across the tracks they would be in little danger
of being seen. Gallup’s house was one of the few on that side of the
Espee main line.
When they had left the railroad a hundred yards behind they
dismounted and began walking through the sage toward Aaron’s place.
The three or four cabins they had to pass to get there were in
darkness. A light burned in an upper window of Gallup’s house.
“Tobias and him countin’ up the day’s profits, no doubt,” Johnny
thought. The Indian heard the boy muttering. “’Bout time I begun
doin’ a little countin’ up myself,” Johnny went on. Aloud, then, to
Charlie he said:
“You git ahead now. No noise, no tracks, you savvy?”
Again the Indian answered with a nod of his head.
In ten minutes they were lurking in the shadows beneath the lighted
window.
Aaron’s house was a story and a half affair, and the lighted window
at least ten feet from the ground. They could hear the murmur of
voices, but the closed window kept them from understanding a word of
what was being said.
A stone’s throw away the lights of the Palace Hotel burned brightly;
Johnny turned a wistful eye toward it. In a way it was his Times
Square—his Broadway. He wondered who was facing Scanlon tonight.
Something whispered to him that his evenings there were a thing of
the past. Gambling with him had been an art, but it was a sorry
accomplishment, one that would be of doubtful value to him in the
days to come.
Unknown to Johnny, this reasoning was based on the fact that
subconsciously he saw himself treading the future at Molly Kent’s
side.
A through freight thundered by as the two men waited, undecided as
to their next move. Charlie looked blankly at the boy. “How you get
up there?” he whispered.
“I’ll tell you,” Johnny answered, an idea breaking in on him. “I
stand on your shoulders, Charlie, you know, like this”—the boy
stooped and then arose, clasping the legs of an imaginary man. “You
understand?”
Again that unemotional nod from the Indian. Getting down upon all
fours, he waited for Johnny to climb into position. The boy
straightened up, using the side of the house to help him retain his
balance.
“Move along,” he whispered. “Stop when I signal.”
They had only ten feet to go. Charlie felt Johnny’s legs stiffen as
the boy came abreast the window. The Indian stopped.
“Steady,” Johnny warned as he pressed his face to the glass. He
started as he beheld Gallup’s companion. It was Tony Madeiras!
The Basque seemed to be having the best of the conversation. Tony
had his hat on, pushed back from his forehead, his black hair
curling out from beneath the brim. Something strange about the hat
caught and held Johnny’s attention. It was the little gold snake
snapped in the hat band.
“Traynor’s luck piece or I’m a liar,” Johnny gasped to himself.
“Where in God’s name did the Basque git it?”
He could see that Tony was enjoying himself. He knew Madeiras’
manner when things were going his way. A smile all insolence
wreathed the man’s face. His eyes were contemplative, cruel. Gallup
cowered before them.
There was money upon the table between the two men. The Basque
pushed the gold pieces to the floor with a sweep of his hand.
“Money mean not’ing to Tony Madeiras,” Johnny heard him say. “Thass
leetla theeng—money. You tell me ’bout those jail at Carson. Ha, ha!
Those jail be nice place for you, too, _señor_.”
“Don’t be a fool, Madeiras,” old Aaron whined. “You can’t send me
down there without goin’ yourself.”
“I go eef I have to. I’m strong; jail ees no nice place for old man
like you. Me, I do not try to keel Johnny. I just crease him, I
t’ink. Those rock, they keel him; but judge, he say we keel him just
the same, I guess. Now what you say—you steel try marry those girl?”
Aaron did not answer.
“As sure you try those trick,” Tony went on, “I go see the Señor
Kelsey”—the district attorney.
“You will, eh?” Gallup cried. “Like hell you will!”
His hand came up from under the table, a pistol, black and ominous,
held rigidly. “You’ll tell nothin’!” he screamed as he leveled his
gun at the Basque’s head.
A blood-curdling yell broke from Johnny’s lips as he saw the old
man’s finger tighten on the trigger. Gallup jumped. His chair
crashed over as he kicked it out of his way. The Basque’s eyes
rolled until their whites showed.
What was that in the window—a dead man’s face?
“_Hola! Virgen santa!_” Madeiras shouted, and he made the sign of
the cross. “Johnny! Johnny Dice!”
Gallup’s palsied hand pointed his gun at the apparition. Johnny
contorted his face and laughed diabolically. The old man’s finger
pressed the trigger and shot the window pane to bits, but the boy
was gone. He had beaten the gun by an instant.
Charlie Paul had felt the boy’s legs stiffen. The next he knew
Johnny was on the ground beside him. A moment later they were lost
in the night.
When they found their ponies the boy permitted himself his first
laugh. “That yell of mine,” he said, “wasn’t in the play. No, sir!
Madeiras was up there. Gallup would have killed him in another
second.”
“Good old Tony,” thought Johnny. Molly was safe! Madeiras was a
hero. He was making a Judas of himself for his pal’s sake.
“Guess we don’t go back there pretty soon, eh?” Charlie chuckled.
“Surest thing!” exclaimed Johnny. “I know now that he’ll scare. We
have plenty fun along that man, Charlie.”
Madeiras had discovered as much, too. Even seeing the ghost of
Johnny Dice had not robbed him of all sense. When Gallup turned back
from the shattered window he found himself looking into the Basque’s
gun.
“I tak’ those peestol now, _señor_,” he said.
Aaron was too dumfounded to object. “Did yuh see it?” he demanded.
“It was him!”
“_Madre de Dios!_ Of course I see heem,” the Basque cried angrily.
His hands flashed out and caught Gallup. Lifting him off his feet he
hurled him across the room.
“I ought to keel you!” he growled.