FLEMING IS SHOWN
Johnny got up at noon, and when he saw the sign on his door its single
word "Vamose" told him that the valley and the cabin were of no further
use to him; that the time for subterfuge and acting a part was past.
That the rustlers were not certain of his intentions was plain, for
otherwise there would have been a bullet instead of a warning; and he
was mildly surprised that they had not ambushed him to be on the safe
side.
It now remained for him to open the war, and warn them further; or
to pretend to obey the mandate and seek new fields of observation.
Pride and anger urged the former; common sense and craftiness, the
latter; and since he had not accomplished his task he decided to
swallow his anger and move. Had he been only what he pretended to be,
Nelson's creek would have seen some stirring times. As a sop to his
pride he printed a notice on a piece of Charley's wrapping paper and
fastened it on the door. Its three, short words made a concise, blunt
direction as to a certain journey, popularly supposed to be the more
heavily traveled trail through the spirit world. Packing part of his
belongings on Pepper, he found room to sit in the saddle, and started
off for an afternoon in Hastings, after which he would return to the
cabin to spend the night and to get the rest of his effects.
When he rode into town he laughed outright at the sign on Pop's door,
and he laughed harder when he saw another on Charley's door; and
leaving his things behind Pop's saloon, he pushed on to Devil's Gap.
At the ford he met the two happy anglers returning and they paused in
mid-stream to hold up their catch.
"You come back with us," grinned Pop. "We'll pool th' fish an' have a
three-corner meal. Where was you goin'?"
"To find you," chuckled Johnny. "I'm surprised at th' way you both
neglects business."
"Comin' from you that makes me laugh," snorted Pop.
Charley grinned. "Did you see that whoppin' big feller I got? Bet it'll
go three pounds."
"Lucky if it's half that," grunted Pop. "If I'd 'a' got that one _I_
had hold of, we'd 'a' had a three-pounder, or mebby a four-pounder."
Charley snorted. "Who ever heard of a four-pound brook trout? Been a
brown, now, it might 'a' been that big."
"Why, I caught 'em up to eight pounds, back East, when I was a kid!"
retorted Pop.
"Yo're a squaw's dog liar!" snapped Charley. "Eight-pound brook trout!
You must 'a' snagged a turtle, or an old boot full of mud!"
"Bet you five dollars!" retorted Pop, bristling.
"How you goin' to prove it?" jeered Charley. "Call th' dead back to
life to lie for you?"
"Reckon I can't prove it," regretted Pop. "But when a man hangs around
with a liar he shore gets th' name, too."
"Nobody never called me a liar an' got off without a hidin'!" snapped
Charley. "I may be sixty years old, but I can lick you an' yore whole
fambly if you gets too smart!"
Pop drew rein, his chin whiskers bobbing up and down. "I'm older'n that
myself; but I don't need no relations to help me lick you! Get off that
hoss, if you dares!"
"Here! Here!" interposed Johnny. "What's th' use of you two old friends
mussin' each other up? Come on! I'm in a hurry! I'm hungry!"
"I won't go a step till he says I ain't no liar!" snapped Charley.
"I won't go till he says I caught a eight-pound brook trout!"
"Mebby he did--how do _I_ know what he did when he was a boy?" growled
Charley, full of fight. "But I ain't no liar, an' that's flat!"
"Who said you was, you old fool?" asked Pop heatedly.
"You did!"
"I didn't!"
"You did!"
"Yo're a liar!"
"Yo're another!"
"Get off that hoss!"
"You ain't off yore own yet!"
Johnny was holding his sides and Pop wheeled on him savagely. "What th'
h--l _you_ laughin' at?"
"That's what _I_ want to know!" blazed Charley.
"Come on, Charley!" shouted Pop. "We'll eat them fish ourselves. It's
a fine how-dy-do when age ain't respected no more. An' th' next time
you goes around callin' folks liars," he said, shaking a trembling fist
under Johnny's nose, "you needn't foller _us_ to do it on!"
Down the trail they rode, angrily discussing Johnny, the times, and the
manners of the younger generation.
When Johnny arrived at the saloon and tried the door he found it
locked. He could hear footsteps inside and he stepped back, chuckling,
to wait until Pop had forgiven him; but after a few minutes he gave it
up and went around to try the window of a side room.
"What you think yo're doin'?" inquired a calm voice behind him.
He wheeled and saw a man regarding him with level gaze, and across the
street was a second, who sat on one horse and held fast to another.
"Tryin' to get in for a treat," grinned Johnny, full of laughter. "Had
a spat with Pop an' Charley, an' cussed if they ain't locked me out!"
The stranger showed no answering smile. "That so?" he sneered. "Reckon
you better come along with me, 'round front, till I hears what Hayes
has to say about it. _I_ don't believe he's home."
Johnny's expression changed from a careless grin to an ominous frown.
"If you do any walkin' you'll do it alone."
Several people had been drawn to the scene and took in the proceedings
with eager eyes and ears, but were careful to keep to one side. Jim
Ackerman had a reputation which made such a location very much a part
of discretion; and the two-gun man had been well discussed by Pop.
"I finds you tryin' a man's window," said Ackerman. "So I stopped to
ask about it. As long as I've took this much trouble I'll go through
with it. You comin' peaceful, or must I drag you around?"
"Mebby that's a job you'd like to tackle?" replied Johnny.
"I'm aimin' to be peaceful," rejoined Ackerman, his voice as smooth as
oil; "but I allus aim to do what I say. You comin' with me?"
"If yo're aimin' to be peaceful, yo're plumb cross-eyed," retorted
Johnny, slouching away from the wall.
Quick steps sounded within the building and a frightened, high-pitched
voice could be heard, "Couple of bobcats lookin' for holts," it said.
"That feller Nelson is pickin' on somebody else."
The window raised and Pop stuck his angry face out to see what was
going on; and his wrinkled countenance paled suddenly when he saw
Ackerman, and the look in his eyes. He had a trout in one hand and a
bloody knife in the other, and both fell to the ground.
"Jumpin' mavericks!" he whispered. "It's Ackerman! What's wrong, Jim?"
he quavered.
"You saved us a walk," replied Ackerman, not taking his eyes from the
flushed face of his enemy. "I caught _him_ tryin' to open that window."
Charley thrust his head out as Pop replied. "We was playin' a joke on
him. It's all right, Jim. Much obliged for yore unusual interest."
"Well, I'm glad of _that_," smiled Ackerman; "but he looked
_suspicious_ an' I reckoned I ought to drag him around an' show you
what I _found_ tryin' to bust in. But if you _say_ it's all right, why
I reckon it _is_!"
"I reckon it ain't!" snapped Johnny, enraged at his humiliating
position and at the way Ackerman accented his words. "An' if that
itchin' _trigger_-finger of _yourn_ wants to get _busy_ it has my
permission," he mimicked "Pop," he said, sharply, "who _is_ this
buzzard?"
"No need to get riled over a thing like that," faltered Pop.
"Shut yore trap!" snapped Charley, battle in his eyes. "That's
Ackerman, relative of Quigley's; th' best six-gun man in th' country."
"Thanks," growled Johnny, staring through narrowed lids at Ackerman,
who stood alert, his lips twitching with contempt. "When a dog pesters
me I kick him; if he snaps at me I shoot him. I'm goin' to kick you
to yore cayuse an' yore friend." He had been sliding forward while he
spoke and now they stood face to face, an arm's length apart.
Ackerman suddenly made two lightning-like movements. His left hand
leaped out to block his enemy's right in its draw, while his own right
flashed down to his gun. As his fingers closed on the butt, Johnny's
heavy Colt by some miracle of speed jabbed savagely into the pit of
the scheming man's stomach with plenty of strength behind it, and
Ackerman doubled up like a jackknife, his breath jolted out of him with
a loud grunt. Johnny's right hand smacked sharply on his enemy's cheek,
left vivid finger marks, which flashed white and then crimson, and
continued on down; and when it stopped a plain, Frontier Colt peeked
coyly from his hip at the surprised and chagrined gentleman across
the street, who had been instructed to remain a noncombatant; and had
no intention, whatsoever, of disobeying Ackerman's emphatic order. To
reveal his status he quickly raised his hands and clasped them on the
top of his hat, which is a more comfortable position than holding them
stiffly aloft.
Ackerman was dazed and sick, for the solar plexus is a peculiarly
sensitive spot, and his hands instinctively had forsaken offense and
spasmodically leaped to the agonized nerve center.
"Turn around!" snapped Johnny viciously. "_Pronto!_ There's dust on th'
seat of yore pants."
Ackerman groaned and obeyed, and the hurtling impact of a boot drove
him to his hands and knees.
"Get agoin'!" ordered Johnny, aflame with anger, slipping the right
hand gun back into its holster and motioning with the other.
Ackerman, his eyes blazing, started on his humble journey, assisted
frequently by the boot; and having crossed the street, he paused.
"Get up on that cayuse!" crisply ordered Johnny, making motions which
increased the mounted man's uneasiness.
The further Ackerman had crawled the angrier he had become, and tears
of rage streaked the dust on his face. At Johnny's last command and the
kick which accompanied it, his good sense and all thought of safety
left him. He arose with a spring, a berserker, trembling with rage,
and reached for his gun with convulsive speed while looking into his
enemy's weapon with unseeing eyes. There was a flash, a roar, and a
cloud of smoke at Johnny's hip, and a glittering six-shooter sprang
into the air, spinning rapidly. Ackerman did not feel the shock which
numbed his hand, but leaped forward straight at his enemy's throat.
Johnny swerved quickly and his right hand swung up in a short, vicious
arc. Ackerman, too crazed to avoid it, took the blow on the point of
his jaw and dropped like a stone.
Johnny stepped back and looked evilly at the man on the horse.
"Gimme yore gun, butt first. Thanks. You work for Quigley?"
The other nodded slowly.
"Friend of this hombre?"
"Yes; sort of."
"Then why didn't you cut in?"
"Why, I--I--" the other hesitated, and stopped.
"Spit it!"
"Well, I wasn't supposed to," coldly replied the horseman.
"Then it was talked over?"
"Not particular. Jim does his own fightin', hisself."
"Good thing for Jim, an' you, too," retorted Johnny. "When it's crowded
I can't allus be polite. Who put that sign on my door?"
"What sign?"
"_I_'m askin' _you_ questions!" snapped Johnny, his eyes blazing anew.
"Dunno nothin' about it," answered the other.
"I reckon yo're a practiced liar," retorted Johnny. "But it don't make
no difference. I'm leavin' th' valley, for I can't fight pot-shooters
an' do any work at th' same time. Quigley don't own this country, an'
you tell him that while he's boss of that little valley, _I_'m boss in
this town. If him or any of his men come to town while I'm here I'll
shoot 'em down like I would a snake. That means one at a time or all
together; an' if he don't believe me, you tell him I'll be here all
day tomorrow. There ain't no bushes in town, an' none of yore gang can
fight without 'em. Now you say to him that I don't want no remarks made
about what I was doin' up there--you savvy that? If I hear of any I'll
slip up there some night an' blow him all over his shirt. An' d--n you,
I mean it!"
Ackerman stirred and sat up, looking around in a dazed way. When his
eyes fell on Johnny they lost their puzzled look and blazed again with
rage. He reached swiftly to his holster, found it empty, and shrugged
his shoulders.
Johnny regarded him coldly. "Get on that cayuse, an' start goin'. This
town ain't big enough for both of us at once."
Ackerman silently obeyed, but his face was distorted with passion. When
he had clawed himself into the saddle he looked down on the grim master
of the situation.
"Words are foolish," he whispered. "We'll meet again!"
Johnny nodded. "I reckon so. Everybody plays their cards accordin' to
their own judgment. Just now I got a high straight flush, so you hit
th' trail, _pronto_!"
He stepped aside to get out of the dust-cloud which suddenly swirled
around him, and watched it roll northward until the dim figures in it
were lost to sight around a bend. The slouch went out of his bearing as
he straightened up and slid his gun into its holster, and walking over
to Ackerman's glittering six-shooter he picked it up and sneered at it.
"I ain't surprised," he laughed, eying the ivory handle and the ornate
engraving. Wheeling abruptly he glanced carelessly at the grinning
audience and strode to the door of Pop's saloon.
"I'll be d--d!" sputtered Pop, his eyes still bulging.
"Reckon you will," laughed Johnny, "unless you mends yore sinful ways."
"What you been doin' to make Jim Ackerman pick a fight with you?"
demanded Pop, recovering his faculties and his curiosity at the same
instant.
"Here's his gun; an' here's his friend's," said Johnny. "Keep 'em for
'em. They plumb went off without 'em."
Pop openly admired Ackerman's weapon. "Bet that cost a heap," he
remarked. "Ain't she a beauty?" He rubbed energetically at a leaden
splotch on the cylinder.
"It was in good company," replied Johnny.
"You got to look out for him," Pop warned. "He's a bad Injun." Then he
grinned suddenly. "But he come d--d near bein' a _good_ Injun!"
"Hey!" called a peeved voice from within. "If you reckon I'm goin' to
clean all these fish myself, you better copper yore bets." Footsteps
approached the door and Charley roughly elbowed Pop aside. "That means
you, too, Nelson," he growled. "What you mean, hangin' back at th'
ford? Figger we'd have 'em all cleaned before you arrove? Well, if
you aim to eat any of 'em, you grab holt of a knife an' get busy!" He
shuffled back into the room again, muttering: "Cripes! I'm fish from
my head to my heels, an' bloody as a massacre. An' what's more, I ain't
goin' to clean another d--d one, not nohow!"