“Klein!”
Klein turned and looked at Tony, who motioned for him to come over.
Klein was in an evil frame of mind, judging from his sullen countenance,
and Brick noticed that his holster held a gun.
“Whatcha want?” he half growled.
“Wasn’t it you who told me last night that Dale was blind drunk?”
Klein squinted hard at Tony and hesitated for a moment before he said:
“Well, what about it? Ain’t a man got a right to get drunk?”
“What time was this?” asked Brick.
Klein turned his head and looked at Brick—looked him over from boots to
hat and his lips curled sarcastically.
“None of your —— business!”
Klein’s right hand had dropped to his gun as he spoke, but Brick did not
seem to notice this. They were only about three feet apart—so close that
the first shot would win. Brick laughed—laughed as though Klein had
sprung the one big joke of the season. Klein’s hand dropped away from
his weapon and he shifted his glance to the gambler, as though seeking
an answer to all this merriment.
The shifted eyes was all that Brick required. Like a flash he whipped
his left fist flush against Klein’s jaw, knocking him into the roulette
wheel. Before Klein could recover from his astonishment Brick’s right
fist swung in a short arc to the angle of his jaw on the opposite side
from the first blow, and Klein lost all interest in things.
It all happened in a few seconds, yet the room was in an uproar by the
time Klein slid to the floor. Brick backed against the bar and Buck
Pelham crossed over beside him. Brick did not know how many friends
Klein had in the place, and he was not taking any foolish chances.
Klein sat up in a moment and looked around vacantly. He felt of his
lower jaw and got slowly to his feet. Soapy Caswell scowled at Brick and
at Klein.
“What was it about, sheriff?” asked Otto nervously.
“I asked him a question—a question he could have answered, and he told
me it was none of my —— business,” replied Brick evenly.
“Was it any of yore business?” queried Soapy.
“It sure was, Soapy.”
Soapy turned back to the dazed Klein.
“Yo’re fired, Klein! Understand what I’m sayin’? You’ve got six days’
pay comin’ to yuh. Go out to the ranch, roll yore little bundle and
shake loose from the Circle Cross. Here’s yore six-days’ pay.”
Soapy handed Klein some money and Klein put it in his pocket. His jaw
seemed to bother him considerably, but he did not look at Brick as he
went out of the door. Soapy turned back to the poker table, talking
loudly.
“I ain’t got a —— bit o’ use for the sheriff, but I ain’t goin’ to let
my hired men talk back to him, y’betcha.”
Brick grinned at Buck Pelham, but Buck was serious.
“Look out for Klein, Brick. He’s a killer if there ever was one, and he
won’t forget very quick. Whoo-o-ee! Boy, you sure do hit hard and fast.
Mind tellin’ me what yuh asked him?”
Brick explained the question and quoted Klein’s reply.
“Klein got drunk last night and claims he lost his gun,” added Brick. “I
found a gun today. Klein refused to describe his gun; so he didn’t get a
look at the one I found.”
Buck did not seem curious to know what kind of a gun Brick had found; so
Brick continued:
“Who got Dale’s gun, Buck?”
Buck shook his head.
“I dunno. I haven’t seen it, Brick. He must ’a’ had it with him when he
was killed; but it’s kinda funny he never turned it in when he quit. The
gun he carried belonged to me—or rather to me and Malvene.”
“Black-handled .45 Colt?”
Buck shook his head. “Nope. Forty-four Colt, with yellow bone handles,
Brick.”
“Oh,” breathed Brick without a sign of surprise. “Well, I reckon I’m
goin’ to put on a little food. See yuh later, Buck.”
“Watch out for Klein,” cautioned Buck.
Brick grinned and went out of the door. It was growing dusk. Brick
looked up and down the street, but there was no one in sight; so he
crossed the street and went into a restaurant.
* * * * *
Silent Slade declared that he was having the time of his young life. He
had found a vacant seat at a poker table in McGill’s saloon at the lower
end of the street, and for the first time in years the god of good-luck
smiled upon him.
McGill’s place was a small saloon, with space enough in front of the bar
for a couple of tables. McGill was a fleshy-jowled sort of a person,
with pig-like eyes and a round, fat nose. His lower lip had sagged from
years of holding the unlighted butt of a cheap cigar, and he talked in a
strangled, husky voice, caused no doubt from too much cheap whisky.
But the place and proprietor did not affect Silent in the least. His
working capital had been the lean sum of one dollar and seventy-five
cents, but several successive showdowns had given him enough to do
business on a larger scale; with the result that he owned most of the
money in the game.
Just now Silent was generous in his words; which seemed to annoy Romeo
Kendall and “Snookie” Duggan, who were in the game. McGill was also in
the game and McGill did not like Silent Slade. Duggan was a square-built
cowpuncher, with a lantern jaw and a crooked nose. His forehead sloped
back sharply from his eyebrows, which showed no break between them.
Suspicion seemed to dog his tracks, but he was either clever enough or
lucky enough to keep one jump ahead of the sheriff. Duggan’s eyes were
like the eyes of a chimpanzee—nearly round in shape and half hidden
under his eyebrows.
“You fellers ain’t got the courage to back up yore hands,” complained
Silent as he drew in a fair sized pot. “You play cards like li’l
children. Duggan had me beat in sight, but his mind tells him that I’ve
sure got somethin’ from a ten to a ace in the hole, which mates up with
one of them three face-cards in sight. Duggan thinks he’s smart as ——,
when he figures thataway, but li’l old man Slade’s son only had a trey
in the ho-o-ole, thasall.”
Duggan shifted in his chair. Silent’s jovial sarcasm was making him
nervous.
“Li’l chips all comin’ home to roost,” chuckled Silent as he peered at
the corner of his hole-card. “Don’t nobody figure me for a trey in the
hole this time.”
“First king bets,” intoned the dealer, and Silent shoved in a full stack
of blue chips.
Duggan had the other king, and called the first bet. Romeo stayed with a
seven in sight.
“Romeo thinks we’re kiddin’ like holdup men,” chuckled Silent, and
Kendall flushed at the gibe.
Another king fell in front of Silent and he roared with unholy mirth.
Duggan shoved back his chair in disgust.
“You can’t win, Duggan,” laughed Silent. “Nobody who works with men who
lose their guns can win at anythin’.”
“Who lost a gun?” asked McGill.
“Curley Klein. Got drunk and lost his weepin’,” Silent drawled
humorously.
“How do yuh know he did?” asked Romeo.
“’Cause, m’ little dearie,” explained Silent slowly, “’cause it hath
been found, that’s why. Mebbe Klein thought he was a fish, ’cause it was
found in the horse-trough. Brick Davidson was a heap pleased over it,
but didn’t want to carry it himself.”
“Who took it?” asked Duggan quickly.
“Ol’ man Slade’s handsome offspring. Yessir, the beautiful child got the
gun. Klein gets cocky and refuses to tell us what she looks like.
“‘What size?’ asks the sheriff.
“‘Man size,’ says Klein, and then I told him he ought to pack a .22.
Haw! Haw! Haw!”
Duggan looked past Silent and made a move as though to get out of his
chair. Silent turned and saw Klein near the table, facing him, and
Klein’s face was black with rage.
For a moment they looked at each other, while the room went deadly
still. Then Klein said:
“This time I’m goin’ to laugh.”
He barely finished the sentence when he drew his gun. Silent was in no
position to draw, but he did not lose his nerve for a moment. Like a
flash he ducked half under the table and reared straight ahead,
upsetting the table, and as he threw himself forward his left arm
encircled Snookie Duggan, throwing Duggan between himself and Klein.
Klein fired once, and the bullet tore through the edge of the table,
burning Silent’s forearm, but he was unable to fire again for fear of
hitting Duggan. Romeo tried to get out of the way, but Silent and Duggan
crashed into him and the three of them went down in a heap.
Klein was backing away from them, trying to get a shot at Silent, who
had a strangle-hold on Duggan, holding him right against him as a
shield, while he slowly worked his gun from his twisted belt. Klein
realized what Silent was doing and took a chance. His bullet clipped
through Silent’s hair, but Silent suddenly let loose of the
half-throttled Duggan and rolled free, shooting as he rolled.
Klein fired once more, but his aim was hasty and the bullet hit the wall
a foot above Silent’s head. Silent fired twice. Klein’s right arm went
as limp as a rope and his gun fell to the floor. For a moment he shifted
his balance and then sat down hard on the floor.
“Set ’em up in the other alley!” grunted Silent, sliding to his feet.
Duggan’s gun had fallen from its holster in the struggle and now he
reached for it, but Silent’s gun roared again and the bullet spun the
gun off across the floor.
Romeo rubbed his bruised knees and stared at Silent. McGill had made no
move to interfere. Silent looked at the wrecked card-table and at
McGill.
“I’ll take two hundred and fifty and call it square, McGill. I had that
much in front of me.”
McGill did not hesitate, but took a fat wallet from his pocket and began
peeling off bills. Klein’s right arm was out of commission and he was
almost sitting on his gun; but he made no move to use his left hand.
Silent accepted the bills from McGill, backing against the wall as he
counted them. Watching the men he stepped to the table and tossed
several of the bills to McGill.
“Come again, Mac; those are counterfeit.”
McGill glared at Silent and at the bills.
“You’re crazy!”
“If I take ’em,” amended Silent. “Gimme good money.”
McGill opened his wallet and took out a number of well-worn bills, which
he passed to Silent. Then he took the ones Silent had rejected, looked
closely at them and replaced them in his wallet.
“How do yuh know them bills are counterfeit?” asked McGill.
“Make a li’l guess,” grinned Silent, backing toward the door. “So-long,
Klein. I still say yuh ought to pack a .22.”
Silent had stopped in the doorway, facing the center of the room. As he
slowly turned to step outside, something crashed against his head and he
fell sprawling on his face.
* * * * *
Brick heard the shooting and went to the door, but was unable to locate
the direction of the shots. Harp came across the street and joined him,
but was not able to tell where the shooting was. Pistol-shots were
common in Silverton, but these shots had been spaced as if it was
something besides an exuberant cowpuncher celebrating.
“Sounded to me like she might be down by McGill’s place,” stated Harp.
“There was one shot, and then in a little while another and then
another. Then two shots pretty close together. Where’s Silent, Brick?”
“Wasn’t he with you, Harp?”
“Naw. I’ve been in Scotty’s place. Went lookin’ for you, and I reckon I
was in every place except McGill’s; but I didn’t see Silent.”
Brick swung away from the door, leaving his hat in the restaurant, and
Harp trotted at his heels. It was about two blocks to McGill’s place. No
one else had heard or paid any attention to the shots, which were a
common thing in Silverton. It was the usual thing for a cowboy to
announce his departure with a shot or two; but it was the spacing of
these shots that aroused Brick’s suspicion.
Brick halted near a window and looked inside. McGill was standing near
the bar, reading a newspaper, while Romeo Kendall was alone at a
card-table, playing solitaire. There were no other men in the place.
All was peace therein, but Brick was not satisfied. He walked around
behind the saloon. About a hundred yards away was an old barn and
corral; an indistinct mass in the night. Suddenly a match glowed dimly,
as though cupped in a hand, and went out.
Brick and Harp walked slowly in that direction and reached the corral
fence, but there was no sight nor sound of the party who lit the match.
Came a low-pitched, half-grunt, half-groan, and the figure of a man
seemed to detach itself from the heavy shadow.
“Who is that?” asked Brick softly.