THE DOOR OPENS, AND CLOSES AGAIN
In one sense Hampton had greatly enjoyed Miss Spencer's call. Her
bright, fresh face, her impulsive speech, her unquestioned beauty, had
had their effect upon him, changing for the time being the gloomy trend
of his thoughts. She was like a draught of pure Spring air, and he had
gratefully breathed it in, and even longed for more.
But gradually the slight smile of amusement faded from his eyes.
Something, which he had supposed lay securely hidden behind years and
distance, had all at once come back to haunt him,--the unhappy ghost of
an expiated crime, to do evil to this girl Naida. Two men, at least,
knew sufficient of the past to cause serious trouble. This effort by
Slavin to hold personal communication with the girl was evidently made
for some definite purpose. Hampton was unable to decide what that
purpose could be. He entertained no doubt regarding the enmity of the
big gambler, or his desire to "get even" for all past injuries; but how
much did he know? What special benefit did he hope to gain from
conferring with Naida Gillis? Hampton decided to have a face-to-face
interview with the man himself; he was accustomed to fight his battles
in the open, and to a finish. A faint hope, which had been growing
dimmer and dimmer with every passing year, began to flicker once again
within his heart. He desired to see this man Murphy, and to learn
exactly what he knew.
He had planned his work, and was perfectly prepared to meet its
dangers. He entered the almost deserted saloon opposite the hotel,
across the threshold of which he had not stepped for two years, and the
man behind the bar glanced up apprehensively.
"Red Slavin?" he said. "Well, now see here, Hampton, we don't want no
trouble in this shebang."
"I 'm not here seeking a fight, Jim," returned the inquirer, genially.
"I merely wish to ask 'Red' an unimportant question or two."
"He's there in the back room, I reckon, but he's damn liable to take a
pot shot at you when you go in."
Hampton's genial smile only broadened, as he carelessly rolled an
unlighted cigar between his lips.
"It seems to me you are becoming rather nervous for this line of
business, Jim. You should take a good walk in the fresh air every
morning, and let up on the liquor. I assure you, Mr. Slavin is one of
my most devoted friends, and is of that tender disposition he would not
willingly injure a fly."
He walked to the door, flung it swiftly and silently open, and stepping
within, closed it behind him with his left hand. In the other
glittered the steel-blue barrel of a drawn revolver.
"Slavin, sit down!"
The terse, imperative words seemed fairly to cut the air, and the
red-bearded gambler, who had half risen to his feet, an oath upon his
lips, sank back into his seat, staring at the apparition confronting
him as if fascinated. Hampton jerked a chair up to the opposite side
of the small table, and planted himself on it, his eyes never once
deserting the big gambler's face.
"Put your hands on the table, and keep them there!" he said. "Now, my
dear friend, I have come here in peace, not war, and take these slight
precautions merely because I have heard a rumor that you have indulged
in a threat or two since we last parted, and I know something of your
impetuous disposition. No doubt this was exaggerated, but I am a
careful man, and prefer to have the 'drop,' and so I sincerely hope you
will pardon my keeping you covered during what is really intended as a
friendly call. I regret the necessity, but trust you are resting
comfortably."
"Oh, go to hell!"
"We will consider that proposition somewhat later." Hampton laid his
hat with calm deliberation on the table. "No doubt, Mr. Slavin,--if
you move that hand again I 'll fill your system with lead,--you
experience some very natural curiosity regarding the object of my
unanticipated, yet I hope no less welcome, visit."
Slavin's only reply was a curse, his bloodshot eyes roaming the room
furtively.
"I suspected as much," Hampton went on, coolly. "Indeed, I should have
felt hurt had you been indifferent upon such an occasion. It does
credit to your heart, Slavin. Come now, keep your eyes on me! I was
about to gratify your curiosity, and, in the first place, I came to
inquire solicitously regarding the state of your health during my
absence, and incidentally to ask why you are exhibiting so great an
interest in Miss Naida Gillis."
Slavin straightened up, his great hands clinching nervously, drops of
perspiration appearing on his red forehead. "I don't understand your
damned fun."
Hampton's lips smiled unpleasantly. "Slavin, you greatly discourage
me. The last time I was here you exhibited so fine a sense of humor
that I was really quite proud of you. Yet, truly, I think you do
understand this joke. Your memory can scarcely be failing at your
age.--Make another motion like that and you die right there! You know
me.--However, as you seem to shy over my first question, I 'll honor
you with a second,--Where's Silent Murphy?"
Slavin's great square jaws set, a froth oozing from between his thick
lips, and for an instant the other man believed that in his paroxysm of
rage he would hurl himself across the table. Then suddenly the
ungainly brute went limp, his face grown haggard.
"You devil!" he roared, "what do you mean?"
Surprised as Hampton was by this complete breaking down, he knew his
man far too well to yield him the slightest opportunity for treachery.
With revolver hand resting on the table, the muzzle pointing at the
giant's heart, he leaned forward, utterly remorseless now, and keen as
an Indian on the trail.
"Do you know who I am?"
The horror in Slavin's eyes had changed to sullenness, but he nodded
silently.
"How do you know?"
There was no reply, although the thick lips appeared to move.
"Answer me, you red sneak! Do you think I am here to be played with?
Answer!"
Slavin gulped down something which seemed threatening to choke him, but
he durst not lift a hand to wipe the sweat from his face. "If--if I
didn't have this beard on you might guess. I thought you knew me all
the time."
Hampton stared at him, still puzzled. "I have certainly seen you
somewhere. I thought that from the first. Where was it?"
"I was in D Troop, Seventh Cavalry."
"D Troop? Brant's troop?"
The big gambler nodded. "That's how I knew you, Captain," he said,
speaking with greater ease, "but I never had no reason to say anything
about it round here. You was allers decent 'nough ter me."
"Possibly,"--and it was plainly evident from his quiet tone Hampton had
steadied from his first surprise,--"the boot was on the other leg, and
you had some good reason not to say anything."
Slavin did not answer, but he wet his lips with his tongue, his eyes on
the window.
"Who is this fellow Murphy?"
"He was corporal in that same troop, sir." The ex-cavalryman dropped
insensibly into his old form of speech. "He knew you too, and we
talked it over, and decided to keep still, because it was none of our
affair anyhow."
"Where is he now?"
"He left last night with army despatches for Cheyenne."
Hampton's eyes hardened perceptibly, and his fingers closed more
tightly about the butt of his revolver. "You lie, Slavin! The last
message did not reach here until this morning. That fellow is hiding
somewhere in this camp, and the two of you have been trying to get at
the girl. Now, damn you, what is your little game?"
The big gambler was thinking harder then, perhaps, than he had ever
thought in his life before. He was no coward, although there was a
yellow, wolfish streak of treachery in him, and he read clearly enough
in the watchful eyes glowing behind that blue steel barrel a merciless
determination which left him nerveless. He knew Hampton would kill him
if he needed to do so, but he likewise realized that he was not likely
to fire until he had gained the information he was seeking. Cunning
pointed the only safe way out from this difficulty. Lies had served
his turn well before, and he hoped much from them now. If he only knew
how much information the other possessed, it would be easy enough. As
he did not, he must wield his weapon blindly.
"You 're makin' a devil of a fuss over little or nuthin'," he growled,
simulating a tone of disgust. "I never ain't hed no quarrel with ye,
exceptin' fer the way ye managed ter skin me at the table bout two
years ago. I don't give two screeches in hell for who you are; an'
besides, I reckon you ain't the only ex-convict a-ranging Dakota either
fer the matter o' that. No more does Murphy. We ain't no bloomin'
detectives, an' we ain't buckin' in on no business o' yourn; ye kin
just bet your sweet life on thet."
"Where is Murphy, then? I wish to see the fellow."
"I told you he'd gone. Maybe he didn't git away till this mornin', but
he's gone now all right. What in thunder do ye want o' him? I reckon
I kin tell ye all thet Murphy knows."
For a breathless moment neither spoke, Hampton fingering his gun
nervously, his eyes lingering on that brutal face.
"Slavin," he said at last, his voice hard, metallic, "I 've figured it
out, and I do know you now, you lying brute. You are the fellow who
swore you saw me throw away the gun that did the shooting, and that
afterwards you picked it up."
There was the spirit of murder in his eyes, and the gambler cowered
back before them, trembling like a child.
"I--I only swore to the last part, Captain," he muttered, his voice
scarcely audible. "I--I never said I saw you throw---"
"And I swore," went on Hampton, "that I would kill you on sight. You
lying whelp, are you ready to die?"
Slavin's face was drawn and gray, the perspiration standing in beads
upon his forehead, but he could neither speak nor think, fascinated by
those remorseless eyes, which seemed to burn their way down into his
very soul.
"No? Well, then, I will give you, to-day, just one chance to
live--one, you dog--one. Don't move an eyelash! Tell me honestly why
you have been trying to get word with the girl, and you shall go out
from here living. Lie to me about it, and I am going to kill you where
you sit, as I would a mad dog. You know me, Slavin--now speak!"
So intensely still was it, Hampton could distinguish the faint ticking
of the watch in his pocket, the hiss of the breath between the giant's
clinched teeth. Twice the fellow tried to utter something, his lips
shaking as with the palsy, his ashen face the picture of terror. No
wretch dragged shrieking to the scaffold could have formed a more
pitiful sight, but there was no mercy in the eyes of the man watching
him.
"Speak, you cringing hound!"
Slavin gripped his great hands together convulsively, his throat
swelling beneath its red beard. He knew there was no way of escape.
"I--I had to do it! My God, Captain, I had to do it!"
"Why?"
"I had to, I tell you. Oh, you devil, you fiend! I 'm not the one you
're after--it's Murphy!"
For a single moment Hampton stared at the cringing figure. Then
suddenly he rose to his feet in decision. "Stand up! Lift your hands
first, you fool. Now unbuckle your gun-belt with your left hand--your
left, I said! Drop it on the floor."
There was an unusual sound behind, such as a rat might have made, and
Hampton glanced aside apprehensively. In that single second Slavin was
upon him, grasping his pistol-arm at the wrist, and striving with hairy
hand to get a death-grip about his throat. Twice Hampton's left drove
straight out into that red, gloating face, and then the giant's
crushing weight bore him backward. He fought savagely, silently, his
slender figure like steel, but Slavin got his grip at last, and with
giant strength began to crunch his victim within his vise-like arms.
There was a moment of superhuman strain, their breathing mere sobs of
exhaustion. Then Slavin slipped, and Hampton succeeded in wriggling
partially free from his death-grip. It was for scarcely an instant,
yet it served; for as he bent aside, swinging his burly opponent with
him, some one struck a vicious blow at his back; but the descending
knife, missing its mark, sunk instead deep into Slavin's breast.
Hampton saw the flash of a blade, a hand, a portion of an arm, and then
the clutching fingers of Slavin swept him down. He reached out blindly
as he fell, his hand closing about the deserted knife-hilt. The two
crashed down together upon the floor, the force of the fall driving the
blade home to the gambler's heart.