THE COMEDY SETTING
"Dead, you mean," broke in Nash, "because otherwise he'll never be
helpless."
"I tell you, Nash," said the other solemnly, "I can make him helpless
with one minute of talk. My problem is to keep that wild devil harmless
while he listens to me talk. Another thing--if he ever sees me, nothing
_but_ death will stop him from coming at my throat."
"Speakin' personal," said the other coldly, "I never take no chances on
fellers that might come at my throat."
"I know; you're for the quick draw and the quick finish. But I'd rather
die myself than have a hair of his head hurt. I mean that!"
Nash, his thoughts spinning, stood staring blankly.
"I give up tryin' to figure it out; but if he's comin' here and you want
to keep him safe I'd better take a fresh hoss and get twenty miles away
before night."
"You'll do nothing of the kind; you'll stay here with me."
"And face him without a gun?" asked the other incredulously.
"Leave gun talk out of this. I think one of the boys looks a little like
me. Lawlor--isn't that his name?"
"Him? Yes; a little bit like you--but he's got his thickness through the
stomach and not through the chest."
"Never mind. He's big, and he's grey. Send for him, and get the rest of
the boys in here. They're around now for noon. Get _every_ one.
Understand? And make it fast."
In ten minutes they came to the office in a troop--rough men, smooth
men, little and big, fat and thin, but good cattlemen, every one.
"Boys," said Drew, "a tenderfoot is coming to the ranch to-day. I'm
going to play a few jokes on him. First of all, I want you to know that
until the stranger leaves the house, Lawlor is going to take my place.
He is going to be Drew. Understand?"
"Lawlor?" broke out several of them, and turned in surprise to a big,
cheerful man--grey, plump, with monstrous white whiskers.
"Because he looks a bit like me. First, you'll have to crop those
whiskers, Lawlor."
He clutched at the threatened whiskers with both hands.
"Crop 'em? Chief, you ain't maybe runnin' me a bit?"
"Not a bit," said Drew, smiling faintly. "I'll make it worth your
while."
"It took me thirty years to raise them whiskers," said the cattleman,
stern with rebuke. "D'you think I could be _hired_ to give 'em up? It's
like givin' up some of myself."
"Let them go, then. You can play the part, whiskers and all. The rest of
you remember that Lawlor is the boss."
"And brand that deep," growled Lawlor, looking about with a frown.
He had already stepped into his part; the others laughed loudly.
"Steady there!" called Drew. "Lawlor starts as boss right now. Cut out
the laughing. I'll tell the rest of you what you're to do later on. In
the meantime just step out and I'll have a talk with Lawlor on his part.
We haven't much time to get ready. But remember--if one of you grins
when Lawlor gives an order--I'm done with that man--that's all."
They filed out of the room, looking serious, and Drew concentrated on
Lawlor. "This sounds like a joke," he began, "but there's something
serious about it. If you carry it through safely, there's a hundred in
it for you. If you fall down, why, you fall out of an easy place on this
ranch."
The big cattleman wiped a growing perspiration from his forehead and
considered his boss with plaintive eyes.
"This tenderfoot who's coming is green to the range, but he's a hard
man; a fine horseman, a sure shot, and a natural fighter. More than
that, he's coming here looking for trouble; and he'll expect to get the
trouble from you."
Lawlor brushed his moustache anxiously.
"Let someone else take the job--that's all. A hundred ain't to be picked
up every week, but I'll do without it. In my day I've done my share of
brawlin' around, but I'm too stiff in the joints to make a fast draw and
getaway now. Let Nash take this job. He's gun-fighter enough to handle
this bad-man for you."
"No," said Drew, "not even Nash can handle this one."
"Then"--with a mighty and explosive emphasis--"there ain't no possible
use of me lingering around the job. S'-long."
"Wait. This young chap isn't going to murder you. I'll tell you this
much. The man he wants is I; but he knows my face, not my name. He's
been on the trail of that face for some time, and now he's tracking it
to the right house; but when he sees you and hears you called Drew,
he'll be thrown off again."
The other nodded gloomily.
"I'm by way of a lightning rod. This tenderfoot with the hard hand, he
strikes and I sort of conduct the shock away from anything that'll burn,
eh?"
Drew overlooked the comment.
"There are certain things about me you will have to know." And he
explained carefully the story which Nash had told to Bard.
"This Bard," asked the cautious Lawlor, "is he any relation of old John
Bard?"
"Even if he were, it wouldn't make your position dangerous. The man he
wants is I. He knows my face--not my name. Until he sees me he'll be
perfectly reasonable, unless he's crossed. You must seem frank and above
board. If you tell more lies than are necessary he may get suspicious,
and if he grows suspicious the game is up and will have to be finished
with a gun play. Remember that. He'll want to know about Nash. Tell him
that Nash is a bad one and that you've fixed him; he mustn't expect to
find Nash here."
Lawlor rubbed his hands, like one coming from the cold outdoors to a
warm fire.
"I'm beginning to see light. Lemme at this Bard. I'm going to get enough
fun out of this to keep me laughin' the rest of my life."
"Good; but keep that laugh up your sleeve. If he asks questions you'll
have some solemn things to say."
"Chief, when the time comes, there's going to be about a gallon of tears
in my eyes."
So Drew left him to complete the other arrangements. If Bard reached the
house he must be requested to stay, and if he stayed he must be fed and
entertained. The difficulty in the way of this was that the servants in
the big ranchhouse were two Chinese boys. They could never be trusted to
help in the deception, so Drew summoned two of his men, "Shorty" Kilrain
and "Calamity" Ben.
Calamity had no other name than Ben, as far as any one on the range had
ever been able to learn. His nickname was derived from the most dolorous
face between Eldara and Twin Rivers. Two pale-blue eyes, set close
together, stared out with an endless and wistful pathos; a long nose
dropped below them, and his mouth curled down at the sides. He was
hopelessly round-shouldered from much and careless riding, and in
attempting to straighten he only succeeded in throwing back his head, so
that his lean neck generally was in a V-shape with the Adam's apple as
the apex of the wedge.
Shorty Kilrain received his early education at sea and learned there a
general handiness which stood him in stead when he came to the
mountain-desert. There was nothing which Shorty could not do with his
hands, from making a knot to throwing a knife, and he was equally ready
to oblige with either accomplishment. Drew proposed that he take charge
of the kitchen with Calamity Ben as an assistant. Shorty glowered on the
rancher.
"Me!" he said. "Me go into the galley to wait on a blasted tenderfoot?"
"After he leaves you'll have a month off with full pay and some over,
Shorty."
"Don't want the month off."
Drew considered him thoughtfully, following the precept of Walpole that
every man has his price.
"What _do_ you want, Shorty?"
The ex-sailor scratched his head and then rolled his eyes up with a
dawning smile, as one who sees a vision of ultimate bliss.
"Let one of the other boys catch my hoss out of the corral every morning
and saddle him for me for a month."
"It's a bargain. What'll you do with that time?"
"Sit on the fence and roll a cigarette like a blasted gentleman and damn
the eyes of the feller that's catchin' my hoss."
"And me," said Calamity Ben, "what do I get?"
"You get orders," answered Kilrain, "from me."
Calamity regarded him, uncertain whether or not to fight out the point,
but apparently decided that the effort was not worth while.
"There ain't going to be no luck come out of this," he said darkly.
"Before this tenderfoot gets out of the house, we're all going to wish
he was in hell."