Tex glanced at the other's low-hung belt and gun. "Have you shot at it
yet?"
Jerry nodded.
"From where?"
"Right here."
"Great mavericks!" said Tex. "Here: let's see how fast you can get that
gun out, an' empty it at that box. I got a reason for it."
At the succession of reports the toolshed door flew open and a huge
Irishman, rifle in hand, popped into sight. Seeing Tex he grunted and
slowly went back again.
Tex looked from the box to the marksman, shook his head, silently
unbuckled the belt from its owner's waist, took the empty gun from the
agent's hand, and tossed the outfit on a near-by box.
"Don't you carry it, Jerry," he said. "Load it up an' leave it home.
Popular feelin', even in this town, frowns at th' shootin' of an unarmed
man. It's somethin' that's hard to explain away."
"But then I'll be defenseless!" expostulated Jerry, "It's some
protection."
"You were defenseless before I took it from you," said Tex.
"But it is some protection," Jerry reiterated.
Tex shook his head. "It's a screaming invitation for a killin', that's
what it is. Here: That's you," pointing to the target. "You got
somethin' I want plumb bad. You try to stop me from gettin' it, an' I
won't listen to you. I force th' hand an' you make a move that I can
claim was hostile. Yo're armed, ain't you? I might even slap yore
face. Then this happens."
The spurting smoke enveloped them both, the stabs of flame and the sharp
reports coming with unbelievable rapidity. Stepping from the gray fog,
Tex pointed. The box was split and turned part way around. The inner
two circles showed six holes.
"I did it in self-defense. What chance did you have?" demanded the
puncher.
"Great guns! What shooting!" marveled Jerry, his mouth open.
"That's good shootin'," admitted Tex. "Better, mebby, than most men in
this town can do, quite a lot better than th' average. There's plenty
of men who can't do as good. Th' draw was more'n fair, too; better than
most gun-toters; but I know two men that would 'a' killed me before I
jerked loose from th' leather. I wasn't showin' off: I was answerin'
yore remark about a gun bein' some protection to you. While we're
speakin' about guns, can Miss Saunders use one? Bein' a woman I hardly
thought so, unless Hennery has taught her."
"Henry!" growled Jerry. "Why would he teach her?"
"Why a young woman like her would be right popular, out here, or
anywhere else," replied Tex. "House full of admirers, an' others
taggin' along. I reckoned Hennery might have showed her how to shoot."
"The devil had a better chance," retorted Jerry. "If Henry ever calls
at our house she'll scald him. She thinks about as little of Henry as
she does of a snake."
"I'm admirin' Miss Saunders more every day," said Tex. "Havin' disposed
of th' interpolation, we'll get at th' main subject. As I was sayin',
bein' a woman, she's not likely to be shot at. But I'm sorry yore Colt
is so big: she couldn't drag a gun like that around with her. Besides,
th' caliber needn't be so big."
"I got a short-barreled .38 home," said Jerry. He looked a little
worried. "What makes you talk like that?"
"Bein' a gunman, I reckon; an' my ornery, suspicious nature," answered
Tex. "Bein' a poker player for years, readin' faces is a hobby with me.
I've read some in this town that I don't like. 'Taint nothin' to put a
finger on, but I'm so cussed suspicious of every male biped of th' genus
homo that I allus look for th' worst. Anyhow, it wouldn't be no crime
if Miss Saunders knew how to use that snub-nosed .38, would it? Sort of
give her a sense of security. Then, if Murphy or our adolescent Watkins
took her out ridin' an showed her how to get th' most out of its limited
possibilities, it ought to relieve yore mind."
"I don't know of anyone better qualified to get the most out of a gun
than yourself," replied Jerry. "If it ain't asking too much," he
hastily added.
"Havin' a brand-new, Cayenne pepper cayuse to learn about, an' show
off," laughed Tex, "it wouldn't set on me like a calamity. Shall I
bring a horse for Miss Saunders, or saddle up her own?"
"She hasn't any; but----"
"--me no buts," interrupted Tex. "I'll now pay my respects to yore
sister, with yore permission, an' invite her to ride out with me,
tomorrow, an' view th' lovely brown hills an' dusty flats, where every
prospect pleases, an' only man is vile. Procrastination never was a sin
of mine: it's th' one I overlooked. We'll likely go far enough from
town so there won't be no panicky fears of a hostile raid. Does Miss
Saunders favor any particular hoss?"
"No, and she can ride, so you won't have to get one that's nearly dead."
Tex laughed. "All right; but when she gets it, it won't be as ornery as
it might be. How is it that nobody but Murphy paid any attention to our
shootin'?"
"They're used to it by this time."
"Well, so-long," and Tex swung into the saddle and rode off.
Jane showed her pleasure at his visit and smilingly accepted his
invitation to go riding. They examined the coop and yard, talked of
numerous things and after awhile Tex turned to leave, but stopped and
grinned.
"Bring your six-gun, Miss Saunders, and we'll have a match," he said.
"The great western target, the ubiquitous tin can, is sure to be
plentiful, despite the killing drought."
"My gun?" she laughed. "I have no gun. Do you think that I go around
with a gun?"
He tapped his forehead significantly. "I'm so used to carrying one that
I forgot. Shucks, that's too bad. Well, if we overtake any wild cans
you can use mine, although a smaller gun would be more pleasant for you.
Too bad you haven't a short-barreled gun--a .32, for instance. Shooting
is really great sport. Then I'm to call at two o'clock?"
"If there was some place where we could enjoy a lunch," she murmured.
"We could leave earlier and get back earlier."
"There is sure to be," assured Tex, smiling. "Say ten o'clock, then?"
"That will be much better. I'll have everything ready when you come.
Is there anything in the eating line which you particularly fancy?"
Tex fanned himself with the sombrero, a happy expression on his face.
"Yes, there is," he admitted. "Mallard duck stuffed with Chesapeake
oysters. Plenty of cold, crisp, tender celery, and any really good
brand of dry champagne. I'll enjoy anything you prepare, and I'll have
a round-up appetite."
"I'll try to give you a change from hotel food," she laughed as he swung
into the saddle.
She watched him ride away and walked slowly back to the house. Then her
face brightened a little as she thought of the revolver in Jerry's room.
Jerry had said it was a .38.
The station agent answered the hail and went out to the edge of the
platform.
"All fixed?" he asked.
Tex nodded. "You get her to bring that gun. I paved the way for it,
but you know her better than I do, and how to persuade her without
making her frightened. What's it shoot: longs, or shorts? That's good;
shorts are O.K. Is Murphy in th' toolshed?"
"He's married to it," smiled Jerry.
"If you see him, tell him I'm goin' to call on him late tonight. If his
light's _out_ I'll know he's home. Any fool would know it if it was
lit. Well, so-long."
Jerry looked after him and shook his head, a peculiar, baffled, friendly
light in his eyes. "I don't know when you are most serious: when you
are serious, or when, you are joking. Was your warning about my gun
just a general one, or did it have a special meaning? And about Jane
learning to shoot? What do you know, how much do you know, and why are
you bothering about us? The Heathen Chinee was simple beside you, Tex
Jones."
He coughed and turned to enter the station, but stopped in his tracks as
a possible solution came to him. "I wonder, now," he cogitated, and fell
into the vernacular. "She's a fine girl, sis is; but headstrong. Cuss
it, if it ain't one thing it's another. I don't even know his name is
Jones, or how many wives he may have. Oh, well: I'll have to wait and
see how it heads."
Tex rode slowly down the street, very well satisfied with himself. He
had warned the agent, owned a fine horse that cost him nothing, and was
going riding on the morrow with a very interesting and pretty young
woman. Suddenly he took cognizance of a thought which had been trying to
get his attention for quite some time: Where was Jake and what was he
doing?
"I'm gettin' careless," he reproved himself. "I ain't seen my little
playmate since I paralyzed his nerve system. He didn't act like a man
who would go into retirement with a thing like that tagged to him. I
reckon he's plannin' a comeback: but a man like him usually acts
quicker. All right, Jake: you take plenty of time an' work it out well.
An' that's shore good advice."
There came a sudden yelping from the other side of a near-by building,
so high-pitched, continuous, and full of agony that something moved
along his spine. He reacted to the misery in the sound without giving
it any thought, and when he turned the corner of the store and saw a
chained dog being beaten by one of the town's ne'er-do-wells his hand of
its own volition loosened the coiled rope at the saddle and swung it
twice around his head. The soft lariat leaped through the air like a
striking snake, and as it dropped over its victim, the roan instantly
obeyed its training.
Jerked off his feet, his arms imprisoned at his sides, the dog beater
slid, rolled, and bumped along the ground, at first too startled to
protest. Then his voice arose in a stream of blasphemous inquiry,
finishing with a petition. Tex rode along without a backward glance,
deeply engrossed by some interesting problem and nearly had reached
Carney's saloon before he became conscious of his surroundings. A
miner, cursing, leaped to the roan's head and checked her, shouting
profanely at the rider.
Tex checked the horse, looked curiously down at the protestor and then,
sensing the burden of the other's remarks and becoming aware of the
maledictions behind him, turned languidly in the saddle and looked back
in time to see a dust-covered figure stagger to its feet and throw off
the slackened rope.
"Hey!" shouted Tex indignantly. "What you doin' with my rope? Think
it's worth th' price of a few drinks, eh? You drop it, _pronto_! An'
as for you, my Christian friend," he said to the man at the roan's head,
"if you ever grab my cayuse like that again me an' you are shore goin'
to have an impolite little party all to ourselves. Drop that
hackamore."
"You was killin' that man!" yelled the miner, loosening his hold and
showing fight.
"Well, what of it?" demanded Tex. "Any man that chains up a dog an'
then beats it like he was, ain't got no right to live. If I don't kill
him, somebody else will. What you raisin' all th' hellabaloo about?"
"I reckon you ain't far from wrong," said the other, by this time fully
aware of the identity of the dog beater. "I'm nat'rally for law an'
order. Whiskey Jim ain't no good, I'm admittin'!"
"If yo're for law an' order you must be lonesome associatin' all by
yoreself in this squaw town," replied Tex, grinning, but not for one
moment losing sight of Whiskey Jim, who at that moment was stooping to
pick up a stone lying against the corner of a building. Tex sent a shot
over his head and the incident was closed. "What do you do for
company?"
"I ain't hankerin' for none," answered the miner, smiling grimly. "I
only come in for supplies, an' don't stay long. You a stranger here?"
"That's unkind; but, seein' as how I ain't as much a stranger now as I
was when I come, I won't hold it ag'in' you. Mebby I am gettin' to look
like I belonged here." He laughed. "I don't know very many, but
everybody knows me. They point with pride when they see me comin'; an'
cock their guns behind their backs with their other hand. Where you
located, friend?"
"Second fork on Buffaler Crick, th' first crick west of town. Quickest
way is to foller th' track. Be glad to see you any time. Mine's th'
shack above Jake's."
"I envy you," replied Tex. "See much of our mutual friend?"
"Only when he wants to borry somethin'," grinned the other. "I see you
got th' pick of Williams' animals under yore saddle."
"I was lucky pickin', I admits," beamed Tex. "Nice feller, Williams."
"For them as likes him. Well, friend, I'm mushin' on. Name's Blascom."
"Tex Jones is my _nom du guerre_," replied Tex. "Th' north is a better
country than this for minin'. How'd you ever come to leave it?"
Blascom looked at him questioningly. "Yes, reckon it is; but how'd you
know I come from there?"
"They don't mush nowhere else that I know of," chuckled Tex. He coiled
the dusty lariat, shook it, and brushed his chaps where it had touched,
waved his farewell; and went on to Carney's, where he dismounted and
went in.
"Just met Whiskey Jim," he said across the bar.
"I congratulate you."
"Who's he livin' on?"
"Th' whole town," answered Carney. "He used to hang around here, seein'
what he could steal, but I kicked his pants around his neckband an' he
ain't favorin' me no more. Reckon he belongs to Williams."
"Then he must do somethin' for his keep," suggested Tex. "Our friend
Gustavus Adolphus ain't no philanthropist, I'm bettin'."
"No; Gus is a Republican," replied Carney. "Whiskey Jim used to ride
for him, an' mebby Gus is scared not to look after him a little."
Tex nodded. "Good reason; good, plain, practical, common-sense reason.
Now, Carney--I want a good hoss for a lady, an' I'll have a little ride
on it before I turn it over. Want it tomorrow mornin' at eight
o'clock."
"Miss Saunders won't thank you much for tirin' it out."
"You couldn't help guessin' right th' first time," accused Tex. "There
ain't no other ladies that I've seen or heard about. What th' lady
don't know won't hurt her pride or spoil her appetite. Cuss it, man; I
ain't aimin' to kill th' beast!"
"I reckon you know what yo're goin' to do with th' hoss," replied
Carney, thoughtfully; "but I wonder do you know what yo're doin', goin'
ridin' with that little lady?"
Tex regarded him with level gaze. "Meanin'?" he coldly demanded.
"Meanin' that claim is staked, th' notices posted, an' trespassers
warned off; which is a d--d shame!"
"Hearsay ain't no good. I ain't been formally notified in writin',"
replied Tex. "Until I am, I act natural; an' after I am, twice as
natural, bein' mean by nature an' disposition. All of which reminds me
that this is a remarkable town, an' that there's a re-markable man in
it."
His companion studied him for a moment. "You should keep yore hat on
when yo're ridin' around in th' sun. Th' only remarkable thing about
this town is that it's still alive. Th' only remarkable man in it has
been buried these last twenty years, up yonder on Boot Hill."
"I'm joinin' issue with you on that," replied Tex. "Th' sense of loyalty
an' affection of this town for its leadin' citizen is a great an'
beautiful thing for these degenerate, money-mad days. Parenthetically,
I wonder if there was ever a time when th' days were anythin' else?
Why, everybody is his friend! There's Jake, an' th' nephew, Whiskey
Jim, Tim Murphy, Jerry Saunders, John Graves, Blascom, you, an' me. I
don't know any more at this writin'. An' that leadin' citizen, a man of
culture, wealth, and discernment, is our most esteemed Mr. Gus Williams.
Hear! Hear!"
"There's some names you can scratch, Carney among 'em," growled the
saloonkeeper, spitting in violent disgust. "Yore touchin' paregoric
near makes me weep. an' I'm hard-shelled, like a clam. Two-thirds of
th' people here do what he says, because he either scares or fools 'em.
Th' rest dassn't lynch him because they ain't strong enough. Wealth?
Shore. He got most of it when th' trail was in full swing. His brands,
an' he had a-plenty, were copied from some on th' south ranges near th'
old trail. A herd comin' up, grazin' wide, or passin' through that
scrub an' hill country would near certain pick up a few local head on
th' way, cattle bein' gregarious. Whiskey Jim was th' local herd
trimmer. He'd throw up a herd, claim any of th' stray brands as
belongin' around here. He had th' authority an' th' drawin's of them
brands. If it was a herd of Horseshoe an' Circle Dots he claimed every
other brand with them that was found this side of th' Cimarron. You
know th' rules. He got 'em. Then there was stampedes, an' cattle run
off at night. One time it got so bad that there was talk of a third
Texan Expedition to clean it up. Only this one would 'a' been for a
different purpose than th' other two."
"You better keep off th' Texas Expedition," said Tex. "That was a
covered invasion for th' freedom of th' pore, robbed, browbeaten New
Mexicans; an' it come to a terrible end."
"Not th' one I'm referrin' to," retorted Carney, his face set and
determined. "Th' second one--that plundered caravans on th' old Santa
Fe. I called this other one th' third only because of th' number of men
who would have been in it, an' because it was a Texas idea. But we'll
not quarrel. I had a good friend in th' second, avengin' th' first."
"I won't quarrel about Texas," said Tex. "Not bein' a Texan, my withers
are unwrung. What did Williams do in th' face of that threat?"
"Drifted his herds off before snow flew, to a distant winter range an'
let th' trail herds alone."
"That story ain't unusual," observed Tex. "He's a strange man. Picks
queer names for his hosses. I never heard such names. Take my roan,
now: his name is Oh My Cayenne. That's a devil of a name for anythin',
let alone a hoss. Where'd he ever git it?"
Carney laughed. "I'm agreein' with you, but he didn't name th' roan.
That hoss was named by Windy Barrett, when he was blind drunk. Windy
was a peculiar cuss; allus spoutin' poetry an' such nonsense. Read
books while he was line ridin'. Well, he woke up one mornin' after a
spree in Williams' stable. As he turned his head to see where he was,
th' roan, then a colt, poked its nose over th' stall an' nuzzled him.
One of th' boys was just goin' in th' stable an' saw th' whole thing.
Windy pushes th' hoss away an' says, sadlike: 'Yo're dead wrong, Oh My
Cayenne; it don't banish th' sorrers with its whirlwind sword.' Th'
boys thought it was such a good joke they let th' name stick."
Tex looked dubious. "Mebby they thought so, but I'm not admittin' that
I do; an' it's no joke for any cayuse to have a name like that. There
goes Bud Haines, ridin' out of town: he ain't earnin' his pay. Well,
reckon I'll drift up an' see Williams. I allus like to be sociable.
So-long."
*CHAPTER VII*
*WEIGHTS AND MEASURES*
The proprietor of the general store glanced out of the window as the
roan stopped before his door, and he frankly frowned at Tex's entry.
"Ain't no letters come for no Joneses," he said brusquely.
"Hope springs eternal," replied Tex. He sauntered up to the counter and
was about to turn and lean against it when his roving glance passed
along a line of wide-necked bottles. They looked strangely familiar and
he glanced at them again. A label caught his eye. "Chloral Hydrate" he
read silently. He looked at Williams and chuckled. "I don't claim to
be no Injun, but just th' same I got a lot of patience when it comes to
waitin'. Looks like I'm goin' to need it, far as that letter is
concerned." He looked along the walls of the store. "You shore carry a
big stock for a town like this, Mr. Williams," he complimented, his eyes
again viewing the line of bottles with a sweeping glance. "Strychnine,"
he read to himself, nodding with understanding. "Shore, for wolves an'
coyotes. Quinine, Aloes, Capsicum, Laudanum--quite a collection for a
general store. Takes me back a good many years." Aloud he said. "I
was admirin' that there pipe, an' I've got to have it; but that ain't
what I'm lookin' so hard for." Again he searched shelves, up and down,
left and right, and shook his head. "Don't see 'em," he complained.
His mind flashed back to one word, and his medical training prompted
him. "Chloral hydrate--safe in the right hands and very efficient.
Ought to be tasteless in the vile whiskey they sell out here. You never
can tell, an' I might need every aid." He shook his head again, and
again spoke aloud. "Too bad, cuss it."
"If you wasn't so cussed secret about it I might be able to help you
find what yo're lookin' for," growled Williams. "Bein' th' proprietor I
know a couple of things that are in this store. Yore article might be
among 'em."
"I'm loco," admitted Tex. "What I want is some center-fire .38 shorts.
Couple of boxes will be enough."
Williams flashed a look at the walnut handle of the heavy Colt at his
customer's thigh. He could see that it was no .38. Suspicion prompted
him and he wondered if his companion was a two-gun man, with only one of
them being openly worn. Such a combination was not a rarity. A gun in
a shoulder holster or a derringer on an elastic up a sleeve might well
use such a cartridge. This would be well to speak to Bud Haines about.
"You would 'a' saved yore valuable time, an' mine, if you'd said so when
you first come in," ironically replied Williams. "Got plenty of .45's,
quite some .44's, less .41's, and a few .38's in th' long cat'ridges. I
ain't got no .38 shorts, nor .32's, nor .22's, nor no putty for putty
blowers. Folks around these diggin's as totes guns mostly wants 'em
man-size."
"I reckon so," agreed Tex pleasantly. "Don't blame 'em. Failin' in th'
other qualifications they'd naturally do th' best they could to make up
for them they lacked. I'm shore sorry you ain't got 'em because my
rifle cat'ridges are runnin' low. That's what comes of havin' to buy a
gun that don't eat regulation food. It was th' only one he had, an' I
had to take it quick, bein' pressed hard at th' time. Time, tide, an'
posses wait for no man. Yo're dead shore you ain't got 'em, huh?"
"Well, lemme see," cogitated the proprietor, scratching his head. "I
did have some--they sent me some shorts by mistake an' I never took th'
time to send 'em back. You wait till I look."
"Then you've got 'em now," said Tex. "You never could sell 'em in these
diggin's, where folks as totes guns mostly wants 'em man-size. I'll
wait till you see." He idly watched the scowling proprietor as he went
behind the counter and dropped to one knee, his back to his customer.
As he started to pull boxes from against the wall Tex silently sat on
the counter as if better to watch him.
Williams was talking more to himself than to Tex, intent on trying to
remember what he had done with the shorts, and save himself a protracted
search. "Kept 'em with th' rest of th' cat'ridges till I got mad from
nearly allus takin' 'em down for longs. I think mebby I put 'em about
here."
Tex leaned swiftly backward, his hand leaping to one of the wide-mouthed
bottles on the shelf. "They shore are a nuisance," he said in deep
sympathy.
"I allus have more or less trouble gettin' 'em," he admitted, his hands
working silently and swiftly with the cork. "Didn't hardly hope to get
'em here," he confessed as he swung back and replaced the depleted
bottle. He assumed an erect position again, one hand resting in a coat
pocket. "Shore sorry to put you to all this trouble," he apologized;
"but if you got 'em you are lucky to git rid of 'em, in this town."
Williams turned his head, saw his customer perilously balanced on the
edge of the counter, and watching him with great interest. "I can find
'em if they're here, Mr. Jones," he growled. "You might strain yore
back, leanin' that way--yep, here they are, four boxes of 'em. Only
want two?"
"Reckon I better take all I can git my han's on," answered Tex. "No
tellin' where I can git any more, they're that scarce."
"Yore rifle looks purty big an' heavy for these," observed Williams,
craning his neck in vain to catch a glimpse of it. It lay on the other
side of the horse. "Yes, it's one of them _saengerbund_, or
shootin'-fest guns," replied Tex. "Made for German target clubs, back
in th' East. Got fine sights, an' is heavy so it won't tremble none.
Two triggers, one settin' th' other for hair-trigger pullin'. Cost me
fifty-odd. Don't bother to tie 'em up; they carry easier if they ain't
all in one pocket. Don't forget that pipe."
Williams did some laborious figuring. "I see yo're gettin' acquainted
fast," he remarked, pushing the change across the counter. "Them
Saunders are real interestin'."
"Oh, so-so," grunted Tex. "Tenderfeet allus are. But I reckon she'll
make yore nepphey a good wife. Seems to be real sensible, an' she shore
can cook!"
"Hennery is a fortunate boy," replied Williams complacently, so
complacently that Tex itched to punch him. "He'll make her a good
husban', bein' nat'rally domestic an' affectionate. An' he's so sot on
it that I'm near as much interested in their courtship as they are. I
shore would send anybody to dance in h--l as interfered with it.
Gettin' cooler out?"
"Warmer out, an' in," answered Tex. "Well, they ought to be real happy,
bein' young an' both near th' same age. I'm sayin' age is more
important than most folks admit. Me an' you, now, would be makin' a
terrible mistake if _we_ married a woman as young as she is. We got too
much sense. An' I'm free to admit that I'm rope shy--don't like hobbles
of any kind, a-tall. I'm a maverick, an' aim to stay so. When is th'
weddin' comin' off?"
"Purty soon, I reckon," replied Williams, his voice pleasanter than it
had been since Tex had appeared in town. "She's nat'rally a little
skittish, an' Hennery is sort of shy. Young folks usually are. He was
tellin' me you gave him some good advice."
Tex laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know how good it is," he
replied. "An' it wasn't no advice. I just sort of mentioned to him
somethin' I found worked real well; but what works with one woman ain't
got no call to get stuck on itself--th' odds ain't in favor of its
repeatin'. If it was me, howsomever, I'd shore try it a whirl. It
can't do no harm that I can see."
"He's goin' to back it a little," responded Williams, "till he sees how
it goes."
"A little ain't no good, a-tall," replied Tex. "It might not show any
results for awhile, an' then work fast an' sudden. Well, see you later
mebby. This cayuse of mine needs some exercise. So-long."
Williams followed him to the door, hoping for a glimpse of the German
shooting-club rifle, but Tex mounted and rode away without turning that
side of the horse toward the store.
His next stop was the hotel, where he had a few sandwiches put up for
him and then he left town, heading for Buffalo Creek. He had no
particular object in choosing that direction, the main thing being to
get out of town and to stay out of sight until after dark. As he rode
he cogitated:
"Chloral hydrate. Twenty to thirty grains is the dose soporific. Yes;
that's right. In a hydrous crystal of this nature that would just about
fill--what?" He rode on, oblivious to his surroundings, trying to
picture the size of a container that would hold the required weight of
crystals. "In our rough-and-ready weights a silver half-dime was twenty
grains; a three-cent piece was forty grains, and I think my three-cent
silver piece of '51 weighed ten grains. But not havin' any of 'em now,
all that does me no good. Shucks--there's plenty of miners' scales in
this country. Bet Blascom has one that'll help me out: an' a grain is a
grain, all th' way through." He hitched up his heavily loaded belt and
as his hand came into contact with the ends of the cartridges he
chuckled and slapped the horse in congratulation.
"Omar, we're gettin' close. Bet a .45 shell will hold the dose.
However, not wantin' to kill nobody, we'd better make shore. Yo're a
willin' cayuse, an' I like yore gait: suppose you let it out a little?
We got business ahead."
When he came to the dried bed of a creek he followed it at a distance
and had not gone far before he espied the first fork. On the north side
of the gully was a miserable hut. "That must be Jake's: we'll detour so
he won't see us." Twenty minutes later he came to the second fork and a
second hut, not much better than the first. A familiar figure was just
emerging from it, and soon Tex rode down the steep bank and hailed.
The prospector looked up and waved, turning to face his visitor. "Glad
to see you," he called. "Hope Whiskey Jim ain't run you out of town."
"He might if he kept close to me, up wind," laughed Tex. "Busy doin'
nothin'?"
"Busy as a hibernatin' bear. Git off an' come in th' house, where th'
sun ain't so hot. An' I reckon yo're thirsty."
Tex accepted the invitation and found a box to sit on. The interior of
the shack was not out of keeping with the exterior, and it was none too
clean. His roving glances saw and passed the gold scales, two metal cups
hanging by three threads each from a slender, double-taper bar. Beside
it was a tin box which he guessed contained weights.
"Washin' out lots of gold, Blascom?" asked Tex, smiling.
"Can't even wash my face without totin' water, or goin' up to th' sump.
Th' crick's like it is out there for as far up as I've been. If it
wasn't for a sump I've dug in a sandy place in its bed I'd had no water
at all." He reached into his pocket and produced several bits of gold,
none of them much larger than a grain of wheat. "Found these when I was
gettin' water just now. That sump's goin' to go deeper right quick,
'though I'm scared I'll lose my water."
"What'll they weigh?" asked Tex curiously, handing them back.
"About a pennyweight, I reckon," replied Blascom.
Tex shook his head. "Not them. You've got too trustin' a nature.
Yo're too hopeful: but I reckon that's what makes miners."
Blascom arose, dropped the flecks into a scale pan and dug around in the
tin box. There was a metallic clink and the two pans slowly sought the
same level. "Couple of grains under," he announced. "About twenty-two,
I'd say. That's close figgerin', close enough for a guess."
"Cussed good," complimented Tex as the prospector put back the weights
and dumped the gold out into his hand. "I ain't never dug out no hunks
of gold an' I'm curious. If you aim to put that sump down farther I'm
just itchin' to give you a hand. Come on--what you say?"
"You'd be a mess, sloppin' around with me," laughed Blascom. He shook
his head. "Better set down an' watch me, lendin' yore valuable advice;
or stay here an' keep out of th' sun."
"I can do that in town."
Blascom considered, looking dubiously at his guest's clothes. "Here,"
he said, finally. "You can help me more by carryin' water an' fillin'
up everythin' in here that'll hold it. After I get through wrastlin'
with a pan in that sump th' water won't be fit to drink before mornin'.
That suit you?"
"Good enough," declared Tex, arising and picking up the buckets. "Come
on: reveal yore gold mine. I'm a first-class claim jumper. You had yore
dinner yet?"
Blascom shook his head, picked up a shovel and his gold pan and led the
way. "That can wait. It ain't often I have any free help forced on me
an' I'd be a sucker to let an empty belly cut in."
"I can cook, too," said Tex. "After I fill th' hut with water I'll get
you a meal that'll make you glad yo're livin'; but you got to come after
it to eat it; an' when I yell, you come a-runnin'. If you don't I'll
eat it myself."
The sump lay about a hundred yards up the creek bed, around a bend which
was covered with a thin growth of sickly willows and box elders. It was
a hole about two feet square, the sandy sides held up by a cribwork of
sticks, pieces of boxes, and barrel staves. Blascom dipped both pails
in and started back with them.
"Wait a minute," objected Tex, reaching for them. "Thought you was goin'
after nuggets while I toted th' water?"
"I thought so, too," answered Blascom, "till I had sense enough to think
that I couldn't go rammin' around in there with my shovel until after
th' water was saved. You can carry 'em th' next trip. Sit down an' do
th' gruntin' for me, this time. A dozen buckets will empty her,
almost."
Tex shrugged his shoulders and obeyed, rolled a cigarette, and then
plucked a .45 from its belt loop. Wiping off the grease, he placed his
thumb against the lead and pushed, turning the cartridge slowly as he
worked. When he heard Blascom's heavy, careless tread nearing the bend
he slipped the loosened cartridge into his vest pocket and lazily arose.
"There ain't nothin' else to fill but these here buckets," said the
prospector as he appeared. Filling them again he passed them to Tex and
reached for the shovel and the gold pan. "There's beans you can warm
up, an' some bacon. There's also some sour-doughs. Make a good pot of
coffee an' yell when yo're ready. I'm surprised at th' way this hole's
fillin' up, but I ain't mindin' that. As long as I dump it close by
it's bound to get back again."
Tex picked up the buckets and departed clumsily, his high-heeled boots
not aiding his progress. Reaching the house he set down his load and
wheeled swiftly toward the swaying balance. The pennyweight disk slid
into one pan as his other hand brought from his pocket a generous
quantity of the whitish, translucent crystals. Sniffing them, he smiled
grimly and then nodded as the biting odor gripped his nostrils. He let
them drop slowly into the other pan and when the balance was struck he
added one more crystal and put the rest back into his pocket. Glancing
around the hut he saw a torn, discarded pamphlet in a corner and he
removed some of the inner sheets. When he had finished weighing and
wrapping he had a dozen little packages of more than twenty-four, and
less than thirty, grains. Wiping out the little tray he replaced the
weight, drank deeply from a bucket and then started a fire in the
home-made rock-and-clay stove. While it caught he went out, picked up
some clean pebbles and returned to the scales, soon selecting the pebble
that weighed the same as his powders. He might have use for it sometime
in the future. Taking another piece of paper he emptied into it the
rest of the crystals from his pocket and, sorting out pieces of
thickened lint and bits of tobacco, wrapped the chloral up securely.
Then he got busy with the meal and when the coffee was ready he went to
the door and shouted the old bunkhouse classic: "Come an' get it!"
Blascom soon appeared, his clothing wet and sandy, and in his hand were
several rice grains of gold with quite some dust. "Looks fair to me,"
he said. "I can't hardly tell what I'm doin', th' sump fills up so
fast, an' th' sand is washed in with th' water, fillin' it up from th'
bottom as fast as I can dig it out an' pan it. I can't understand where
all that water comes from. I know there's cussed little of it further
down th' crick bed. When she dried up I nat'rally wanted a sump nearer
th' hut, but I couldn't get one nearer than I have. Must be a spring
somewhere under it." He sniffed cheerfully. "That coffee shore smells
good," he declared, going out to wash his hands.
The meal was eaten rapidly, without much talking, but when it was
finished Blascom packed his pipe and passed the pouch to his companion.
"New pipe?" he asked. "Then wet yore finger an' rub it around in th'
bowl before you light her. You don't want a job cookin', do you? I
never drunk better coffee."
The new pipe going well, Tex leaned back and smiled. "I'll cook th'
supper if you want. I ain't anxious to get back to town before dark.
An' I'll put on them old clothes over there an' help you at th' sump th'
rest of th' day. Let's get goin'."
"All right; it's a two-man job with that water comin' in so fast,"
answered the prospector. "We'll not do any pannin'--just get th' sand
out an' dump it up on th' bank, out of th' way of high water. I can pan
it any time. You see, this dry spell is due to end 'most any time, an'
when it does it'll be a reg'lar cloud-burst. That'll mean no more
placerin' near th' sump. Ever see these creek beds after a cloud-burst?
They're full from bank to bank an' runnin' like bullets."
Tex nodded and looked steadily out of the door, his mind going back some
years and vividly presenting an arroyo and the great, sheer wall of
water which swept down it on the day when he and his then enemy,
Hopalong Cassidy, were fighting it out in the brush. His eyes glowed as
the details returned to him and went past in orderly array. From that
sudden and unexpected danger, and the impulsive chivalry of the man who
had had him at the mercy of an inspired six-gun, had come his
redemption.
"Yes," he said slowly. "I've seen 'em. They're deadly when they catch
a man unawares." He drew a deep breath and returned to the main
subject. "Why don't you hire somebody, Jake for instance, an' clean up
that sump as quick as you can?"
"An' have a knife in my back?" exclaimed Blascom, "or be killed in my
sleep? I don't know much about Jake, but what little I do know about
him, th' less he, or any of th' fellers in town know about that sump,
th' better I'll like it. There ain't one I'd trust, an' most of 'em are
busted an' plumb desperate. I've been pannin' a lot better than fair
day's wages out here, but I'm doin' without everythin' that I can
because I dassn't look so prosperous. Let me show much dust in town an'
I'd be raided an' jumped th' same night. They're like a pack of
starvin' coyotes. I don't even keep my dust in this shack. I cache it
outside at night."
"Suppose you was to buy things in town with coin or bills, lettin' on
that it is yore bedrock reserve that yo're livin' on," suggested Tex.
"That ought to help some."
"But I ain't got 'em," objected Blascom. "Got nothin' but raw gold."
Tex laughed and dug down into his pocket. "That's easy solved. Here,"
he said, bringing up a handful of double eagles. "Gold weighs as much
in one shape as it does in another--even less, bulk for bulk, without
th' alloy. I'll change with you if you want." Then he drew back his
hand and grinned quizzically. "It's allus well to think of th' little
things. It might be better if we didn't swap. You fellers ain't likely
to have a currency reserve: more likely to have it just as you dug it
out. That right?"
Blascom nodded. "Yes; 'though I knowed a feller that allus carried big
bills in place of gold when he could get 'em, an' when he wasn't broke.
They weighed a lot less. Raw gold would be better, out here."
"All right; how'd you like to drop into th' hotel about eleven tonight
an' win heavy from me in a two-hand game of draw? Say as much as we can
fix up? How much you want to change? Couple of hundred?" He chuckled.
"We can fix it either way: raw gold or currency."
"Make it raw gold, then; better yet, mix it," said Blascom, arising, his
face wrinkled with pleasure. He nodded swiftly. "Be back in a minute,"
and he went out. When he returned he went into a corner where he could
not be seen by anyone passing the hut and took several sacks from his
pocket. It did not take him long to weigh their contents and, calling
his visitor over to verify the weights and the cleanness of the gold, he
put the odd gold back into a sack and handed the other to his companion.
"Two hundred even," he said. "Keep yore money till I take it away from
you tonight. Much obliged to you, Jones."
"How do you know I'll be there?" asked Tex, smiling. "I got th' gold
an' a cussed good cayuse. With such a good start it'll be easy."
Blascom chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Yore little game with
Whiskey Jim an' your soiree with Jake tell me different," he answered.
"I've rubbed elbows with all sorts of men for forty-odd years--ever
since I was a boy of sixteen. A man's got to back his best judgment:
an' I'm backin' mine. If I wasn't shore about you do you reckon I'd be
tellin' you anythin' about that sump? Now then: what you say about
settin' here an' takin' things easy for th' rest of th' day? I don't
want you to get all mucked up."
Tex arose, took the boxes of .38 shorts out of his pockets and lay them
on a shelf. He put the heavy little sacks in their places and turned.
"It'll do me good; an' I might learn somethin' useful," he said. "A man
can't never learn too much. Come on; we'll tackle that sump." As he
changed his clothes for those of his host the latter's words of
confidence in him set him thinking. To his mind came scenes of long
ago. "Deacon" Rankin, "Slippery" Trendley, "Slim" Travennes, and others
of that savage, murderous, vulture class returned on his mental canvas.
Of the worst class in the great West they had stood in the first rank;
and at one time he had stood with them, shoulder to shoulder, had
deliberately chosen them for his friends and companions, and in many of
their villainies he had played his minor parts. He stirred into renewed
activity and dressed rapidly. Changing the gold sacks into the clothes
he now wore and putting on his host's extra pair of boots, he stepped
toward the door and then thought of Jake, who reminded him somewhat of
his former friends, lacking only their intelligence. He turned and
swept up his gun and belt, buckling it around him as he left the shack
to help his new friend.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*AFTER DARK*
Murphy's blocked-up box car was dark and showed no signs of life, making
only a blacker spot in the night. To any prowler who might have
investigated its externals, the raised shades and the closed door would
have left him undecided as to whether or not its tenant was within; but
the closed windows on such a night as this would have suggested that he
was not, for the baked earth radiated heat and the walls of the modest
habitation were still warm to the touch. Inside the closed car the heat
must have been well-nigh intolerable.
The silence was natural and unbroken. The brilliant stars seemed rather
to accentuate the darkness than to relieve it. An occasional breath of
heated air furtively rustled the tufts of drought-killed grass, but
brought no relief to man or beast; but somewhere along the branch line a
stronger wind was blowing, if the humming of the telegraph wires meant
anything. In the west gleamed a single glowing eye of yellow-white,
where the switch light told that the line was open. To the right of it
blotches of more diffused and weaker radiance outlined the windows and
doors of the straggling buildings facing the right-of-way. An
occasional burst of laughter or a snatch of riotous song came from them,
mercifully tempered and mellowed by the distance. From the east arose
the long-drawn vocal atrocity of some mournful coyote who could not wait
for the rising of the crescent moon to give him his cue. Infrequent
metallic complaints told of the contraction of the heat-stretched rails.
In the south appeared a swaying thickening of the darkness, an elongated
concentration of black opacity. Gradually it took on a more definite
outline as its upper parts more and more became silhouetted against a
sky of slightly different tone and intensity. First a moving cone, then
a saucer-like rim, followed slowly by a sudden contraction and a further
widening. Hat, head, and shoulders loomed up vaguely, followed by the
longer bulkiness of the body.
This apparition moved slowly and silently toward the rectangular blot at
the edge of the right-of-way, advancing in a manner suggesting
questionable motives, and it paused frequently to peer into the
surrounding void, and to listen. After several of these cautious waits
it reached the old car, against whose side it stood out a little more
distinctly by contrast. The gently rolling tattoo of finger nails on
wood could scarcely be heard a dozen feet away and ceased before
critical analysis would be able to classify it. Half a minute passed
and it rolled out again, a little louder and more imperative. Another
wait, and then came a flat clack as a tossed pebble bounced from the
wall at the waiter's side. Its effect was magical. The figure wheeled,
crouched, and a hand spasmodically leaped hip high, a soft, dull gleam
tipping it. While one might slowly count ten its rigid posture was
maintained and then a rustling not far from the door drew its instant
attention.
"What ye want?" demanded a low, curious voice. "If it's Murphy, he's
sleepin' out, this night av h--l."
The figure at the door relaxed, grew instantly taller and thinner and a
chuckle answered the query of the section-boss. "Don't blame you," it
softly said, and moved quietly toward the owner of the car.
"To yer left," corrected the Irishman. "Who's wantin' Murphy at this
time av night, an' for what?"
"Yore fellow-conspirator," answered Tex, sinking down on the blanket of
his companion. "Didn't Jerry tell you to expect me?"
"Yes, he did; but I wasn't shore it was you," replied Murphy. "So I
acted natural. Th' house is past endurin' with th' winders an' door
closed; an' not knowin' what ye might have to talk about I naturally
distrusted th' walls. This whole town has ears. Out here in th' open a
man will have more trouble fillin' his ear with other people's business.
How are ye?"
"Hot, an' close," chuckled Tex. "Also curious an' lonesome." He
crossed his legs tailor fashion, and then seemed to weigh something in
his mind, for after a moment he changed and lay on his stomach and
elbows. "I don't stick up so plain, this way," he explained.
"I hear ye trimmed old Frowsyhead at poker," said Murphy, "an' won a
good hoss. Beats all how a man wants to smoke when he shouldn't. Have
a chew?"
"I'll own to that vice in a limited degree and under certain
conditions," admitted Tex, taking the huge plug. "An' I'll confess that
to my way of thinkin' it's th' only way to get th' full flavor of th'
leaf; but I ain't sayin' it's th' neatest."
"'Tis fine trainin' for th' eye," replied Murphy, the twinkle in his own
hidden by the night.
"An' develops amazin' judgment of distance," supplemented Tex,
chuckling. "There's some I'd like to try it on--Hennery Williams, for
instance."
"Aye," growled Murphy in hearty accord. "He'll be lucky if he ain't hit
by somethin' solider than tobaccy juice. I fair itch to twist his
skinny neck."
"A most praiseworthy longing," rejoined Tex, a sudden sharpness in his
voice. "How long has he been deservin' such a reward?"
"Since _she_ first came here," growled his companion. "That was why I
wanted Mike Costigan to get his family out av th' way, for I'm tellin'
ye flat, Costigans or no Costigans, that little miss will be a widder on
her weddin' day, if it gets that far. Th' d--d blackguard! I've kept
me hand hid, for 'tis a true sayin' that forewarned is forearmed.
They'll have no reason to watch me close, an' then it'll be too late.
Call it murder if ye will, but I'll be proud av it."
"Hardly murder," murmured Tex. "Not even homicide, which is a
combination of Latin words meanin' th' killin' of a human bein'. To
flatter th' noble Hennery a little, I'd go so far as to admit it might
reach th' dignity of vermicide. An' no honest man should find fault
with th' killin' of a worm. Th' Costigans should be persuaded to move."
"Ye try it," grunted Murphy sententiously. "Can ye dodge quick?"
"Nobody ever justly accused me of tryin' to dodge a woman," said Tex.
"There must be a way to get around her determination."
"Yes?" queried Murphy, the inflection of the monosyllable leaving
nothing to be learned but the harrowing details.
"Coax her to go to Willow," persisted Tex.
"She don't like th' town."
"Yore inference is shore misleadin'," commented Tex. "I'd take it from
that that she does like Windsor."
"Divvil a bit; but she stays where Mike is."
"Then you've got to shift Mike. There's not enough work here for a good
man like Costigan," suggested Tex.
"Yer like a dog chasin' his tail. Costigan stays where th' lass an' her
brother are."
"Huh! Damon an' Pythias was only a dual combination," muttered the
puncher. "Cussed if there ain't somethin' in th' world, after all, that
justifies Nature's labors."
"An'," went on Murphy as though he had not been interrupted, "th' lass
sticks to her brother, an' he stays where he's put. He's not strong an'
he has a livin' to make for two. Ye can take yer change out av that,
Mr. Tex Jones."
Tex grunted pessimistically. "Well, anyhow," he said, brightening a
little, "mebby Miss Saunders won't be pestered for a little while by
Hennery--an' then we'll see what we see. I'm unlucky these days: I'm
allus with th' under dog," and he went on to tell his companion of his
suggestions to the nephew.
"'Tis proud av ye I am," responded Murphy. "May th' saints be praised
for th' rest she'll be gettin'. We can all av us breathe deep for a
little while; an' meanwhile I'll be tryin' my strength with Lefferts,
th' boss at th' Junction. I've hated to leave town even that long, but
now I can make th' run; 'though I know it will do no good. Ye'll be
stayin' in town tomorry?"
"Why, no; I'm goin' ridin' with Miss Saunders," and Tex explained that,
to his companion's admiration and delight.
"It'll be a pleasure for her to be able to leave th' house without bein'
tagged after by that scut," said the section-boss. "Yer a bye with a
head. An' I see where ye not only get th' suspicions av that Tommy lad,
but run afoul of that Henry an' his precious uncle. Haven't ye been
warned yet?" The gleam of hope in his eyes was hidden by the darkness.
"Ye'll mebby have trouble with th' last two--an' if ye do, keep an eye
on Bud Haines. Ye'll do well to watch him, anyhow. Why don't ye slip
out quiet-like, straight southwest from her house? Less chance av bein'
seen; but a mighty slim one. They've eyes all over town."
"We are shore to be seen," quietly responded Tex. "If we sneak out it
will justify their suspicions. I don't want to do that. I'm aimin' to
ride plumb down th' main street, through th' middle of town, an' pay
Tommy a little visit out at his ranch. _There is no shuffling, there
th' action lies in his true nature_. Like Caesar's wife, you know.
An', by th' way, Tim: we have some friends in town, an' I'm addin' an
ally from Buffalo Crick. Time works for us." He paused and then asked,
curiously: "Who is our friend Bud Haines, an' what does he do for a
livin'? I've my suspicions, but I'd rather be shore."
Murphy swore softly under his breath. "He used to ride for Williams
till he earned a reputation as a first-class gunman; but now he follows
old Frowsyhead around like a shadder. Cold blooded, like th'
rattlesnake he is; a natural-born killer. They say he's chain lightnin'
on th' draw."
"I've heard that said of better men than him; some of them now dead,"
said Tex. "Must be a pleasant sort of a chap." He cogitated a bit.
"An' how long has he been playin' shadow to friend Williams? Since I
come to town, or before?" he asked as casually as he could, but tensely
awaited the answer.
"Couple av years," answered Murphy; "an' mebby longer." He tried to
peer through the darkness. "Was ye thinkin' ye made th' job for him?"
"Well, hardly," replied Tex. "I'm naturally conceited, suspicious, and
allus lookin' out for myself. Th' thought just happened to hit me."
Their conversation began to ramble to subjects foreign to Windsor and
its inhabitants, and after a little while Tex arose to leave. He melted
out of sight into the night and half an hour later rode into town from
the west, along the railroad, and soon stopped before the hotel.
The customary poker game was in full swing and he nodded to the players,
received a civil greeting from Gus Williams, and after a short, polite
pause at the table, wandered over to the bar, where Blascom leaned in
black despondency.
"How'd'y," said Tex affably. "Fine night, but hot, an' close."
"Fine, h--l!" growled Blascom, sullenly looking up. "Not meanin' you no
offense, stranger," he hastily added. "I'm grouchy tonight," he
explained.
"Why, what's th' trouble?" asked Tex after swift scrutiny of the other's
countenance. "Barkeep, give us two drinks, over yonder," and he led his
companion to the table. "No luck?"
Blascom growled an oath. "None at all. My stake's run out, all but
this last bag," and he slammed it viciously onto the table. "Th'
claim's showin' nothin'." He scowled at the bag and then, avarice in
his eyes and desperation in his voice, he looked up into the face
opposite him. "This is next to no good: I'll double it, or lose it.
What you say to a two-hand game?"
Tex looked a little suspicious. "I don't usually play for that much,
rightaway, ag'in' strangers." He looked around the room and flushed
slightly at the knowing smiles and sarcastic grins. "Oh, I don't care,"
he asserted, swaggering a little. "Come on; I'll go you. Deck of cards,
friend," he called to the dispenser of drinks, and almost at the words
they were sailing through the air toward his hands. "You've got as much
chance as I have; an' if I don't win it, somebody else will. Draw, I
reckon?" he asked nervously. "All right; low deals," and the game was
on.
Blascom won the first hand, Tex the second. For the better part of an
hour it was an up-and-down affair, the ups for Tex not enough to offset
the downs. Finally, with a big pot at stake he pressed the betting on
the theory that his opponent was bluffing. Suddenly becoming doubtful,
he let a palpable fear master him, refused to see the raise, and slammed
his hand down on the table with a curse. Blascom laughed,
grandiloquently spread a four-card flush under his adversary's nose, and
raked in his winnings.
"Shuffle 'em up." chuckled the prospector. "Things are lookin'
better."
Glancing from the worthless hand into Blascom's exultant face Tex kicked
the chair from in under him, arose and went to the bar where he gulped
his drink, glanced sullenly around the room, and strode angrily to the
stairs to go to his room. Wide and mocking grins followed him until he
was hidden from sight, the expressions on the faces of Williams and his
nephew transcending the others.
The prospector gleefully pocketed the money and dust, sighed with relief
and swaggered over to the other table, one thumb hooked in an armhole of
his vest. He stopped near Williams and beamed at the players, patting
his pocket, but saying nothing until the hand had been played and the
cards were being scooped up for a new deal.
"Williams," he said, laughing, "my supplies are cussed low, but now that
I can pay for what I want I'm comin' in tomorrow mornin' an' carry off
'most all yore grub."
The storekeeper had glanced meaningly at one of the players and now he
lazily looked up, his face trying to express pleasure and
congratulation. The man he had glanced at arose, yawned and stretched,
mumbled something about being tired and out of luck and pushed back his
chair. As he slouched away from the table he turned the chair
invitingly and nodded to Blascom.
"Take my place; I'm goin' to turn in soon," he said.
"Why, shore," endorsed Williams. "Set in for a hand or two, Blascom.
It's early yet, too early to head for yore cabin. This game's been
draggin' all evenin'; mebby it'll move faster if a new man sets in."
Waiting a moment for an answer and none being forthcoming, he leaned
back and stretched his arms. "How you makin' out on th' crick--bad?"
"Couldn't be much worse," answered the prospector, his face becoming
grave. "I can't do much without water, an' th' only water I got is a
sump for drinkin' an' cookin' purposes. You know that I ain't th' one
to put up no holler as long as I'm gettin' day wages out of it; but when
I can't make enough to pay my way, then I can't help gettin' a little
mite blue."
"We all have our trials," replied Williams. He waved his hand toward
the vacant chair. "Better set in for a little while. You've had good
luck tonight: give it its head while it's runnin' yore way. Besides, a
little fun an' company will shore cheer you up. You ain't got no reason
to be hot-footin' off to yore cabin so early in th' evenin'."
The prospector smilingly shook his head. "I ain't needin' no cheerin'
now," he asserted, again slapping the pocket. "I got a little stake
that'll let me stick it out till we get rain. I got too much faith in
that claim to clear out an' leave it; but now I got still more faith in
my luck. It broke for me tonight an' I'm bettin' it's th' turnin'
point; an' if a man ain't willin' to meet a turn of good luck at
sunrise, with a smile, he shore don't deserve it. At sunup I'll be in
that crick bed with a shovel in my hand, ready to go to work. I've been
busted before; more'n once; but I don't seem to get used to it, at all.
Well, good luck, everybody, an' good night," and he turned and strode
briskly toward the door and disappeared into the darkness.
Williams looked disappointed and cautiously pushed the substitute deck
farther back in its little slot under the table. Looking around, he
beckoned to the unselfish player and motioned for him to resume his
seat. The lamb having departed, the regular friendly game for small
stakes would now go on again.
"You fellers heard what I said about sand, th' very first night that
Jones feller showed up," remarked Williams, chuckling. "I'm sayin' it
ag'in: he figgered Blascom was bluffin', played that way until th'
stakes got high an' then got scared out an' quit. Quit cold without
even feedin' in a few more dollars to see th' hand. Left th' table in a
rage just because he lost a hundred or two. I was watchin' him as much
as I could, an' I could see he was gettin' madder an' madder, nervouser
an' nervouser all th' time; an' when a man gets like that he can't play
poker good enough to keep warm in h--l. He ain't no poker player; an'
as soon as I can buffalo him into a good, stiff game, I'll show you he
ain't!"
He paused and looked around knowingly. "He didn't win that roan. I
just sorta loaned it to him. Might have to bait him ag'in, too; but
before he leaves this town I'll git it back, with all he's got to-boot.
There ain't no call for nobody to start yappin' around about what I'm
sayin'," he warned.
"I was a-wonderin' about him winnin' that hoss," said the unselfish
player as he resumed his seat and drew up to the table. A broad grin
spread itself across his face. "Prod him sharp, Gus: we'll get him
playin' ag'in' th' gang, some night, an' win him naked."
The subject of their conversation was upstairs behind his closed door.
He had taken off his coat and vest and was seated facing the washstand,
from which he had removed the basin and pitcher. On the bench was a
pile of 45's, their bullets greaseless, and he was working assiduously
at the slug of another cartridge, his thumb pressing this way and that,
and from time to time he turned the shell for assaults on the other
side. It was hard on the thumb, but no other way would do, for no other
way that he could take advantage of would leave the soft lead entirely
free from telltale marks.
Time passed, but still he labored, changing thumbs at intervals. At
last, all the leads removed and each one standing against its own shell,
he emptied the powder from the brass containers and made a little paper
package of it. Going to his coat and taking out the packets of chloral,
he put the powder package in their place and returned with them to the
bench.
The translucent crystals were of all sizes, some of them too large to be
economically contained by the shells, which he had cleaned of powder
marks. These crystals were larger only in two dimensions, for in
thickness they were practically the same as the others. Doubtful
whether the shells would hold a full dose and permit the leads to be
replaced, he felt some anxiety as he placed the chloral in the folds of
a clean kerchief and began crushing them by the steady pressure of the
butt of his Colt. This was slower than pounding, but the latter was too
noisy a process under present conditions. Dumping the reduced crystals
into a shell lined with paper against possible chemical action on the
brass, he gently tapped the outside of the container and watched the
granules settle until there was room for the lead. He did not dare tamp
it for fear it would not easily empty when inverted. Pushing home the
bullet he up-ended the cartridge and tapped it again to loosen the
contents. Shaking it close to his ear, he smiled grimly. The dose was
loose enough to fall out readily, large enough to insure its proper
effect, and the granules of a size small enough to dissolve quickly.
When he had filled and reloaded the last shell he chuckled as he made a
slight notch on the rim of each, for they would bear close inspection by
weight, sight, and sound, and it was necessary that he mark them to keep
from fooling himself.
He put them back into the pocket of the coat and grinned. "As I
remember the action of chloral hydrate somebody may lose consciousness
and muscular power and sensibility. Their expanding pupils as they wake
up will expand under sore and inflamed eyelids. They'll sleep tight and
not be worth very much for an hour or two after they do awaken. And
these men gulp their whiskey without waiting to taste it, and it is so
vile that they'll never suspect an alien flavor, 'specially if it's not
too strong. Gentlemen, I bid you all good night: and may you sleep well
and soundly."
*CHAPTER IX*
*A PLEASANT EXCURSION*
After an early breakfast, early for him these days, Tex went down the
street toward Carney's. As he passed Williams' stable he heard
hammering, and paused to glance in at the door to see what his friend,
Graves, was doing.
The stableman looked up and turned halfway around at the hail. "Hello!"
he mumbled through a mouthful of nails. Removing them he nodded at the
door. "Tryin' to fasten that lock so it'll do some good. It must 'a'
been forced off more'n once, judgin' by th' split wood, which is so old
that it ain't much good, anyhow. Th' nails sink into it like it was
putty."
Tex was about to suggest the sawing out of the poorest part of the plank
and the in-letting of a new piece in its place, but some subconscious
warning bade him hold his peace.
"Much ado about nothin', Graves," he said, smiling ironically. "Hoss
stealin' is a bigger risk in these parts than it is a profit; an'
anyhow, th' slightest noise will wake you up, sleepin' like you do right
next to th' door." He examined the wood. "Huh; them splits were made
when th' wood was tough--it wouldn't split as dead as it is now: th'
nails would just pull out. So you see it was done years ago. Hoss
stealin' has gone out of style since then. All you want is a catch to
hold it shut ag'in' th' wind." He winced suddenly and held a hand
gently against his jaw. "That's all it wants."
"Reckon yo're right," agreed the stableman, glancing curiously at his
companion's hand. "What's th' matter? Toothache?"
Tex growled a profane malediction and nodded. "Reckon I'll have to go
around an' see th' doc, an' get some laudanum."
"An' pay that thief three prices!" expostulated Graves indignantly.
"Chances are he's so drunk he'll give you strychnine instead. Why don't
you go up to Williams' store? He's got th' laudanum, an' knows how to
fix it up for toothaches an' earaches, I reckon."
"Williams?" queried Tex in moderate surprise. "What you talkin' about?
He ain't runnin' no drug-store! What's he doin' with drugs an' such
stuff?"
Graves laughed and contemplated the lock with strong disapproval. "No,
it ain't no drug-store," he replied. "But th' doc drinks so hard he
ain't got no money left to carry a full line of drugs, so Williams
carries 'em for him, an' sells him stuff as he needs it. Besides, he
allus did sell strychnine to th' ranchers, for coyotes an'
wolves--though I ain't never heard it said that any wolves was ever
poisoned. Sometimes they do get a coyote--but not no wolves. They've
been hunted so hard they just about know as much as th' hunters." He
stepped forward and felt of the wood around the lock. "I reckon yo're
right," he admitted; "though while I ain't nat'rally a sound sleeper, it
would take quite some racket to wake me up if I'd had a couple of drinks
before goin' to bed, which I generally do have. I'll just let her stay
like she is."
Tex looked at the lock and at the bolt receptacle on the door jamb. The
lock was fastened securely for most people, seeing that the pressure
from being pushed inward would not work against it very much; but the
receptacle, the keystone of the door's defense, was nailed to even
poorer wood than the lock itself and he saw at once that any real strain
would force it loose.
"Shore; good enough," he said. "Have an eye-opener?"
Graves accepted with alacrity and in a moment they were smiling across
Carney's bar at the good-natured proprietor.
"That hoss ready?" asked Tex when the conversation lulled.
"In th' stall next to th' roan," answered Carney. "Th' stable boys went
to Europe last night an' won't be back till tomorrow; but I reckon you
can saddle her yoreself."