A LAUGH IN THE NIGHT
Dave Ballard was the only man in the room who immediately lighted the
cigar of Strang's passing; the others seemed indifferent to the
blandishments of the odorous goddess for the nonce. Big Bart, with the
forced composure of a trapped wolf waiting the next move of his captor,
nonchalantly chewed on his with affected indifference, but on his bull
neck the sinews stood out like whipcords. The man was no coward but just
now he was up against a game new to his great and diversified
experience, another man's game, the futility of "bucking" which is
proverbial even among layman. If it be true that the uncertainty of the
future alone makes living endurable, then Bart Coogan was just now
having the time of his life!
With his characteristic directness, Douglass came straight to the point
without delay:
"Mr. Coogan, I have just ascertained that you are the putative owner of
the O Bar O brand, the registry and record standing in your name. May I
presume so far as to ask whether the title is solely in you or is it a
partnership affair?" His tone was very respectful but business-like.
"While it's none of your damn business, I don't object to telling you
that I am the whole firm," said Coogan, insolently. "And I'd like to
know what in--!" He was beginning to get a grip on himself again and
resorted to bluster.
"Thank you!" said Douglass, quietly, restraining a great desire to send
his fist against that snarling mouth. "Now we'll get down to brass tacks
in a jiffy. In the brand referred to there are presently six hundred
head of cattle, six hundred and four, to be exact, including motherless
calves. Of this number more than two-thirds bear altered brands similar
to these." He pointed to the hides on the table: "May I ask how they
came into your possession?"
"You can't prove nothing!" snarled the cornered wolf, viciously. The
other smiled incredulously.
"No? Evidently you have not considered these," touching the letters,
significantly. "Well, we won't argue that point. The upshot of the
matter is that I have a proposal to make to you. I am anxious to acquire
the ownership of the brand myself, and as I have not got enough ready
money to buy it outright, what do you say to a little game of
freeze-out, with these for my stakes as against your bill of sale?" He
pointed to the heap on the table. "You'll be getting much the best of
it!"
For a moment the gambler glared fiendishly at the imperturbable man
facing him; his body was quivering all over with illy suppressed hate
and fury. He crouched like a wild beast preparing to spring, his hands
opening and closing nervously. Then out of the silence came the nasal
humming of Red:
"Yeah's to thu gyurl thet is faih an' kind,
An' yeah's to thu man who is game!"
The taunt stung him back to composure again. Every gambler is a fatalist
by nature; the chance was, after all, more than he had any logical right
to expect under the circumstances. And Big Bart Coogan was game to the
core of his calloused heart! With an admirable effort he recovered his
self-control, and the hand that held the lighted match to the fresh
cigar which Strang politely tendered him was as steady as a rock.
"Anything to oblige a fellow sport!" he said with a fine return to his
professional deference. "Have you a blank form about you, Lew?"
Ballard produced one already filled out; the gambler glanced at him
meaningly. "Got it all framed up, eh?"
"Framed up nothing!" said the marshall, indignantly. "If you win out
this business will be dropped. I think, myself, that you are in big luck
to get so favorable a deal! In his place I'd have settled it in another
way."
"Well," said Coogan, affably, as he scrawled his name with a fountain
pen at the bottom of the instrument, "after I've won out suppose you
take his place." Ballard jerked his head in instantaneous acquiescence.
"If you win out!" he assented, gravely. Then he summoned the bartender,
who was a notary public, to take Coogan's acknowledgment of signature;
the stakes were removed to a side table and the men cut for the deal,
each man was given ten chips.
In poker everything goes that can be made go; Coogan knew perfectly well
that there would be positively no interference on the part of the
spectators, no matter how open and vile his attempts to cheat his
antagonist. Douglass would be left severely alone in his self-defense,
and he resolved to employ every means at his command to win, and that
meant play of the foulest kind. Just so long as his opponent (for whom
by the way he very foolishly felt the professional's contempt of
amateurism) should not detect his crooked work, he would not be
interfered with by his victim's friends. He had never watched Douglass's
play before, but smiled confidently at what he mistook for awkwardness
when Ken clumsily shuffled the cards, the deal having fallen to him.
It was dealer ante and Douglass stayed when Coogan came in. The gambler
filled his hand, aces on sixes, on a three card draw. He passed the bet
and Douglass bet one chip; Coogan raised it two and Douglass called. The
latter had three queens and Coogan took the pot. He was quite certain of
his man now; this cowpuncher was either rattled and had lost his nerve,
or else he was an amateur of the rawest kind, it being evident from the
fact of his drawing only two cards that he had the three queens before
the draw, his other cards being a deuce and seven.
But his equanimity got a jar when Ken passed up the ante on his deal and
subsequently regained all his lost chips on his own deal. The hands were
astonishingly big for the stage of the game and the gambler essayed a
crooked play which apparently was not detected by Douglass. He was
vastly encouraged thereby and tried it repeatedly, winning only a chip
or two each time. Fortune seemed very capricious and at last both men
were again on even footing, each having in possession his full quota of
counters.
Emboldened by his previous successes in that line the gambler now went
about systematically holding out cards; he finally secured the four
aces, dealing Douglass a king full. When the latter called him all the
chips of both men were in the pot.
"What have you got?" The cowboy's voice was peculiarly clear, his manner
suave and courteous.
"What you got?" evasively retorted Coogan with a smirk.
"King full--_and_ a .44 to your nothing! Your sleeve is too tight for
this kind of work, Bart. I didn't think you'd dare try that on me; your
work is very coarse!" He swept the heap of chips to his side of the
table with the barrel of his revolver. "You'll find his real hand in his
sleeve, Red. No, not that one--there's where he has the knife; the cards
are in the left sleeve."
"Did you really think I was that easy?" he said reproachfully to the
discomfited gambler, as McVey laid the bowie and secreted cards on the
table. "Why, you've even misjudged your own hold-out--see!" He rapidly
took up his opponent's hand and spread them face up before the
astonished eyes of the gambler. There were only three, instead of four
aces, with a jack and deuce. "I had you beat on the showdown, Bart.
Really, I am surprised!" Then to the profane delight of Red, he
carelessly opened his hand, exposing the missing ace which he had
adroitly palmed. The spectators to a man laughed and after a moment
Coogan joined in the hilarity. He was really a man of big caliber and he
felt an unwilling admiration of this audacious youngster who had so
cleverly hoisted him with his own petard. Besides, there is a certain
wisdom of magnanimity in defeat.
"You've got me going and coming!" he admitted, laughingly; "I ain't got
no kick coming." But his eyes wandered uneasily to the letters and hides
on the floor and Douglass was generous.
He took the bowie knife and with three rapid circular slashes cut out
those parts branded; upon these he laid the package of letters and held
them out to the gambler together with his knife. He took them
mechanically, staring incredulously at the cowpuncher, who said not
unkindly:
"I reckon you've got more use for these than I have. But if I were you
I'd keep out of the cattle business; the game isn't worth the candle!"
Big Bart went over and tossed the bits of skin and the incriminating
letters into the heart of the little coal fire blazing in the office
stove. When they were finally consumed he turned to Red, who was nearest
the door.
"Call in all your outfit and tell Billy to send in a basket of wine."
With his own hand he filled the glasses and then turned to the waiting
throng with uplifted beaker:
"To the new owner of the O Bar O!"
They drank it vociferously and when the bottles were finally empty
Coogan passed around the cigars. Douglass, though fully aware of the
man's uncanny past, felt for the now apparently despondent wretch the
involuntary pity which the huntsman feels always for the dangerous tiger
which he has laid low after a titanic struggle. He tried to think of
some service that he could consistently render him; there was so much in
this man of gigantic frame and undaunted courage! He had shown himself
game to an incredible degree, and somehow the thought of that herculean
throat purpling in the noose of a Mexican rope was violently distasteful
to him. Impelled by a sudden impulse he went over to him and while
ostensibly bidding him good-by, contrived to whisper unperceived:
"My horse, a roan, is tied just under this window. Nothing on this range
can touch him! I'll hinder them all I can. Good luck to you!"
Over the man's face swept a great wonder. He tried to speak but the
words stuck in his throat; he dropped his eyes and gripped Ken's hand
hard.
"If I make it I'll live straight hereafter!" he mumbled, thankfully.
There is no man so brave but what chills on the threshold of the Valley
of the Shadow!
As Douglass turned laughingly to reply to some witticism of Ballard's
concerning "bloated cattle kings" and their liquorous obligations to the
common community, Coogan put his hands behind his back and with head
bowed as in deep meditation paced slowly toward the window. The Mexican
sheriff, resolutely interposed between him and the opening, drew his
revolver and curtly said: "Pardon! Senor Coogan, I would have speech
with you. I have here a warrant--"
He got no farther, having committed the fatal error of letting his man
get too close. With a leap like that of a charging tiger, the gambler
was upon him, one hand catching the wrist below the weapon, the other
falling with frightful force upon the olive temple. Under the impact of
their combined weight the flimsy window gave way like blotting paper and
both men were precipitated on the ground outside. With a pretense of
going to the sheriff's aid Douglass managed to trip up the marshall,
whose quickly-drawn weapon was harmlessly discharged in the floor, and
as the others stumbled and fell over his prostrate body Douglass managed
to get himself somehow wedged in the window, thus effectually preventing
any use of firearms.
As he struggled with exaggerated strenuosity to free himself from the
entangled debris, he saw Coogan gain his feet and run swiftly towards
the tethered horse; he saw the halter rope severed with one deft slash
of the bowie and the foot placed hastily in the stirrup. But the
triumphant vault into the saddle was never made; the animal, alarmed at
this summary and unusual method of release, was shying away from the man
who was trying in his frenzied haste to mount on the wrong side. As
Coogan hopped about with muttered oaths, trying to secure an effectual
footing, a dark, slender figure seemed to rise out of the ground at his
side. Douglass caught the blue gleam of polished steel in the moonlight
just above Coogan's neck, heard the soft thud of a well-driven blow; he
gave a great cry of warning but it fell upon unheeding ears. The man,
releasing his hold upon the horse, staggered blindly about, thrusting
savagely at random, a queer bubbling cry welling from his lips. Again
and again as the stricken giant reeled tottering about, came that
snake-like glide and merciless thrust until finally, his veins drained
of their vital flood, Coogan fell on his face in the crimsoned snow.
And then above the rush of hurrying feet, above the cries of blasphemous
wonder and alarm as the Palace vomited out its raucous filth, there
arose a cackling horror that Douglass would never forget as long as he
lived, the vacuous gibbering of Dolores Ysobel de Tejada, kissing her
blood-stained _cuchilla_ and screaming weird endearments to two dead men
in Jalisco.
Don Luis Garcia, a little giddy and tremulous from the effects of that
awful blow, wept remorsefully on the neck of McVey, who promptly
suggested vinous consolation. "_Ay de mi!_" he wailed, "why deed I heem
not keel so when that I the chance haddest! Now there will not the
hangin' be, and Senorita de Tejada--Ah, _pobre nina!_ She is what you
call heem 'off-the-nut.' It is to weep--she of the ver' firs' familee
was, and now--_Es muy lastima!_ Eet iss too damn bad!"
Red assented dolorously. "An' Matlock got away, too! Senor, it are shore
hell!" Then, remembering, he turned sharply aside so that the other
could not see the dull flush on his cheek as Conscience slapped him in
the face.
By the advice of Mr. Brewster, the lawyer, Douglass and McVey returned
to the jail and reincarcerated themselves therein. The entrapped
Mexicans were released with a series of warnings, so effectively phrased
by the Lazy K cowpuncher in charge of them, coupled by a few emphasizing
kicks impartially administered by him to each by way of self-consolation
for his having missed all the fun, that they took their permanent
departure for parts unknown without standing on the order of their
going. The turnkey, for obvious reasons, was only too glad to keep his
own counsel.
At the preliminary examination, which was held without delay, both men
were fully exonerated on the grounds of self-defense and were as
promptly discharged from custody. The bill of sale was duly recorded;
another transfer of the brand and its contents from Douglass to Carter
was executed and put on record, and relaxation was the logical order of
the day.
Douglass, suddenly remembering his promise to report the result of his
attempt, went up to the telegraph office and indited a brief message.
"Won out. O Bar O brand recorded in your name."
He did not know that it had been preceded by another message to the same
address, sent by Warren Brewster in reply to one received from Carter,
and ascribed the unconcealed admiration of the girl operator to an
entirely different cause from that which actually inspired it. Evidently
his vanity had suffered no discouragement over night. But he only smiled
indulgently at her; she was a pale, anaemic, washed-out blonde and he had
but small regard for the type.
Back in their palatial New York home Robert Carter and his sister were
seated in the library, waiting with strained emotions for the ring of
the messenger boy who would bring the answer to a message flashed an
hour before to the far West. The man was visibly perturbed and ever and
anon strode impatiently to the window, watch in hand, cursing the
dilatoriness of telegraph companies in general and this one in
particular. The woman sat very quiet and thoughtful in a big cozy chair
before the open fire of sea coals, her head supported by one hand, the
other lying clenched upon two open letters in her lap. Her face was very
pale and there were lines of pain about the sensitive mouth. Her whole
attitude betokened a great nervous tension and the eyes were luminous
with dread. Mechanically she took up the letters and reread them for at
least the hundredth time that morning. They were the two written by
Douglass the night before his departure to Gunnison. It was evident that
Abbie had either exceeded or misunderstood his instructions as to the
posting of them, for they had arrived together in the same mail.
Once more she yielded to the fatal fascination of the shorter note: "In
case of my death--" this time she got no farther for the letters swam in
a blinding mist; her reserve broke down and she laid her head on the
cushioned arm of the chair. Robert came quickly to her side.
"Don't! For God's sake, don't, Gracie! We will know in a minute." He put
his arm tenderly around her. "There is absolutely nothing to apprehend;
he is a man among a thousand and too wise to take any foolish risks. It
is all right!" But his own agitation gave the lie to his brave assurance
and he started nervously as the door-bell clanged harshly.
He took the ominous yellow envelope from the hand of the pompous lackey
who presented it and almost tore the enclosure in twain as he wrenched
it from its flimsy covering. One hasty glance and he gave a great shout
of joy.
"Gracie--listen!"
"Douglass secured bill sale from Coogan without trouble. Is well
and hearty. Congratulations on your manager! He is a wonder!
"BREWSTER."
As she hastily confirmed his reading the bell clanged again and the
obsequious waiter brought in Douglass's telegram. Quick as was the man,
the girl reached the salver first. With a composure that strongly
contrasted with her previous agitation, she handed it to her brother.
"It is from Mr. Douglass," she said calmly, "and confirms Mr. Brewster's
wire. After all we were needlessly exercised about the whole matter. I
had no idea that your friend had such a predilection for dramatic
effects." And to his open-mouthed consternation she swept out of the
room with a scornful smile on her face.
"Well, I'll be damned!" said Mr. Robert Carter, blankly, to the
dignified effigy in plush.
"Yessir," assented that functionary, gravely. "If you please, sir!"