"Labor of love?" queried Carney, grinning.
"Measure of precaution," retorted Tex, a slight frown on his face.
Carney nodded endorsement. "Can't take too much," he rejoined. "That
goes for every kind, too. Nice gal, she is--though a little mite stuck
up. I reckon she----"
"Nice day," interrupted Tex, looking straight into the eyes of the
proprietor; "though it's hot, an' close," he added slowly.
"It is that," muttered Carney. "As I was sayin', you'll find both
hosses ready for saddles," he vouchsafed with slight confusion.
"Much obliged," answered Tex with a smile, turning toward the rear door.
"See you boys later," he said, going out. In a few minutes they saw him
ride past on a nettlesome black which put down its white feet as though
spurning contact with the earth.
"Whitefoot shore glistens," observed Graves.
"She ought to," replied Carney. He mopped off the bar and looked up.
"Beats all how them fellers ride," he observed. "They sit a saddle like
they'd growed there. An'," he cogitated, "beats all how touchy some of
'em are. I can't figger him, a-tall," whereupon ensued an exhaustive
critique of cowpunchers, their manners, and dispositions.
Meanwhile the particular cowpuncher who had started the discussion was
riding briskly northeastward along the trail which he knew led to the C
Bar, and after he had put a few miles behind him he took a package from
his pocket and sowed black powder along the edge of the trail. After a
short while he turned and rode back again.
Jane Saunders answered the knock and smiled at the self-possessed
puncher who faced her, hat in hand. "Come in a moment," she invited,
stepping aside. "This coffee is hardly cool enough to be put into the
bottles, but it won't be long before it is. I am so glad you have
brought Whitefoot. I have ridden her before."
"She's quite a horse," he replied. "Gaited as easy as any I ever rode."
She flashed him a suspicious glance. "Then you've ridden her? When,
and what for?"
"I thought it would do no harm to learn her disposition," he answered
carelessly. "She hasn't been out of the stable for two weeks. We had a
nice five-mile ride, and she took it with plenty of spirit. She's a good
hoss."
After awhile Jane filled two bottles with coffee and placed them with
the lunch on the table. Tex took down a blackened tin pail from a hook
over the stove and, picking up the bottles and the lunch, went out to
his horse, followed by Jane, who had at the last moment buckled on a
cartridge belt and the .38 Colt.
Tex looked at them and cogitated. "That'll be quite heavy and annoying,
bobbing up and down at every step," he observed. "Why not leave the
belt behind and let me slip the gun into my pocket?"
"But I should get accustomed to it," she protested.
"Intend to wear it steadily?"
"No; hardly that," she laughed.
"Then there's no reason to get accustomed to it," he replied. "Surprise
is a great factor, because what is known can be guarded against. Will
you allow me to advise you in a matter of this kind?"
"Jerry says I couldn't have a better adviser," she replied. She
regarded him with level gaze. "Of course, Mr. Jones; but I want to
carry it: you have too much without taking it. Frankly, I'm amused by
your suggestion that I learn to use it, by Jerry's earnestness that I do
learn, and by Tim's fear that I will not. Let us start out by being
frank: Why do you think it necessary that I do?"
"Necessary?" asked Tex. "Why, I am not claiming that it is necessary;
but I do know that it is a very pleasant diversion. Miss Saunders,
there is a great deal said and written about the chivalry of western
men. I won't say that most of it, or even nearly all of it is not
deserved, for I believe that it is; but I will say that there are men
who have no idea of chivalry, honesty, or even decency. You find them
wherever men are, be it any point of the compass, or in any stratum of
society. The West has some of them, even if less than its proportionate
share; and this town of Windsor was not overlooked in their
distribution. I know of no particular reason why you should learn the
use of a revolver; but we are dealing with generalities. They suffice.
With the odds a hundred to one that you never will have need to call
upon knowledge of firearms, why refuse that knowledge when it is so
easily acquired; and when the acquirement not only will be a pleasure
but will lead to further pleasures? Shooting calls for that
coordination of nerves and muscles which make all sports sport. And let
me say, further, that the feeling of confidence, of security, which
comes from the proper handling of a six-shooter is well worth what
little effort has been expended to learn its use. Later I hope you will
make use of my rifle--after I reduce the powder charges a little--but
the short gun should come first. And I would much prefer that you carry
it yourself, and make its carrying a habit rather than an exception."
"You are a very difficult man to argue against successfully, Mr. Jones,"
she said smiling. "I believe, quite the hardest I ever have met."
She took off the belt, slipped the gun inside her waist and hung the
belt on a branch of a small tree beside her.
Tex dismounted, took the belt and carried it into the house and,
returning, lifted her into the saddle, which she wisely sat astride.
Swinging onto the roan he led the way toward town. She was about to
speak of the direction when she decided to keep silent, and, glancing
sidewise at him, smiled to herself at his easy assurance and rather
liked his open defiance of the townspeople. She had no illusions as to
what effect their ride together might have in certain minds, and she
allowed her feelings, if not her thoughts, to choose her words.
"What a relief it is to have a day's freedom," she exulted, patting the
black.
Tex nodded understandingly. "Yes," he said. "Being cooped up and hedged
around does get tiresome, I suspect. Well," he laughed, "the fences are
all down today. We ride where we listeth and let no man say us nay."
She looked at him smilingly. "Do you know that you are something of an
enigma? I'm curious to know what's going on in your head," she daringly
declared. "You just said the fences are all down, you know."
He laughed and glanced down the main street, into which they at that
moment turned, and a certain grimness came to his face, which she did
not miss. "Why allow yourself to be disappointed?" he asked. "Illusions
have their worth; and a mystery solved loses its interest. As a matter
of fact, the less that is known of what goes on in my head, the better
for my reputation for wisdom and common sense. It reminds me of the
mouse in the cave."
"Yes?"
"Yes. It was such a big cave and such a little mouse," he explained.
"And except for the little mouse the cave was empty."
"I admire your humility; it is refreshing, especially in this country;
but I fear it is a very great illusion. Like the other illusions to
which you just referred, has it its worth?"
"Confession is good for the soul, and always has worth."
While he spoke he saw a lounger before the hotel come to startled life
and hurry inside. Down the street three conversing miners stopped their
words to stare open-mouthed at the two riders nonchalantly jogging their
way. The door of the hotel became jammed and curious, surprised faces
peered from its dirty windows, among them the angry countenance of Henry
Williams.
The ordeal of proceeding naturally and carelessly down that street under
such frank scrutiny would have tried the balance of any poise, and Jane,
flushing and trying to ignore the stares, flashed a searching glance at
her companion and felt a quick admiration for him. She could imagine
Tommy under these conditions. For all she could detect, her companion
might have been riding across the uninhabited plains with no observing
eyes within a day's ride of him. Swaying rhythmically to the motion of
his horse, relaxed, unconcerned, and natural, he talked with ease and
smoothness; and unknowingly made an impression on her which time never
would efface.
"That simile of the mouse in the cave," he was saying, "naturally sets
up a train of thought--all thought being an unbroken, closely connected,
although not necessarily manifest to us, concatenation--and leads to the
ass in the lion's skin, being helped materially by the great number of
asses in sight, despite the scarcity of even the skins of the nobler
beasts. The dual combination does not end there, however; there are
jackals in lobos' hides, and vultures posing as eagles. Even the lowly
skunk has found a braver skin and bids for a reputation sweeter to bear
than the one earned by his own striking peculiarity. For such a one
there is nothing so disconcerting as a six-gun appearing from a place
where no six-gun should be--and it loses none of its potency even if the
bore be small and the charge light. Have you ever had the opportunity
to study animals at close range, Miss Saunders?"
His companion, bent over the saddle horn in her mirth, gasped that she
never had enjoyed such an opportunity, especially before today,
whereupon he continued.
"The ass in the lion's skin was all right and got along famously until
he brayed," he explained; "but the skunk fools no one for one instant,
not even himself. He can't even fool Oh My, here," and he slapped the
glossy neck of the roan.
"Who?" demanded Jane, her face red from laughter.
"Oh My; my horse," he answered. "He was named by one Windy Barrett,
when that person awakened from a stupor acquired by pouring libations to
Bacchus. The rest of the name is Cayenne."
"Why, that's an exclamation, not a name--Oh!" Jane went off into
another fit of laughter. "_Omar Khayyam_! Isn't that rich! Whatever
did you do when you heard it?
"I led Graves to the tavern door agape," answered Tex, grinning.
By this time they had swung into the trail leading to the C Bar and the
miles rolled swiftly behind them. Suddenly Tex touched his companion's
arm, both reining in abruptly. Squarely in the middle of the trail was
a rattlesnake, huge for the prairie, and it coiled swiftly, the
triangular head erect and the tail whirring.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Jane, a wave of revulsion sweeping over her. "What a
monster! Can you shoot it from here?"
Tex nodded. "Yes, but while I usually do, I rather dislike the job.
He's a snake all right, man's hereditary enemy since the world was
young, and the hatred for him comes to us naturally. Sinister,
repellant, and all that, that chap is as square as any enemy in the
wild, and he is coolly business-like. He hasn't a friend outside his
own species, and even in that is to be found one of his chief enemies.
There he lies, for all to see, his gauntlet thrown, whirring his
determination to defend himself, and to depart if given a chance. Look
at those coils, their grace and power, not an ungainly movement the
whole length of him. Look at his markings--from the freshness of his
skin and its vivid coloration I'd say he has very recently parted with
his old skin, and the parasites which infected it. You shed your skin
in vain, Old-Timer--you'll not enjoy it long," and his hand dropped to
the holster. A flash and a roar, a rolling burst of smoke, and the
defiant head jerked sidewise, hanging by a few shreds of muscle to the
writhing coils. "'Dead for a ducat, dead!'" quoted Tex, leading the way
past his victim.
A little farther on he pointed to a track along the side of the trail.
"Dog or wolf," he said. "They're identical except for directness. A
dog's track wavers, a wolf's does not. From the fact that it follows
the trail I'd say that was a dog; but it may puzzle us before we lose
it. He was a big animal, though, and if a wolf he's a lobo, the gray
buffalo wolf, cunning as Satan and brave as Hector. And what a killer!
No carrion for him, no meat killed by anyone but himself, and usually
he's shy about returning to that. He creates havoc on a cattle range.
Poison he sneers at, and it takes mighty shrewd trapping to catch him.
To avoid the scent of man is his leading maxim. Before the snow comes
he is safe--afterwards his troubles begin if a tracer crosses his
trail."
"Why I thought he was a big coyote," said Jane. "You make him out to be
quite a remarkable animal."
"And justly," responded her companion. "Coyote? They shouldn't be
mentioned together in the same breath. The buffalo gray is a king--the
coyote a crawling scavenger, with wits in place of courage. The
difference in the natures is indicated graphically by the way they hold
their tails. The coyote's droops at a sharp angle, but the lobo's is
held straight out. A single wolf is more expensive to ranchers now than
he once was, because he has been hunted so hard with traps and poison
that he now has learned not to eat dead animals, and in some cases even
to ignore his own kill after once he has left it. I've heard of several
wolves, each of which have been blamed for the killing of sixty cows in
a year, and their score might have run quite some higher. Have you been
watching this track? I'd say it's wolf--and as direct as an arrow. And
there is the great western target--tomato, from the color of it. Suppose
you try your hand at it?"
Jane produced the pistol and listened intelligently (and how rare a gift
that is!) to all her companion had to tell her. When the pistol was
emptied the can was still untouched. Laughing, Tex dismounted, and drew
a long rectangle in the sand, with the can in the median line and to one
end.
"The ground laying flat instead of standing up like a man," he
explained, "I had to figure on your line of vision. If the upper half
of a man's body were placed on the line nearer you, his head would just
about intercept your view of the farther line. Now your third and sixth
shots, having struck inside the four lines, would have hit a man at that
distance. I'd say you hit his stomach with the third shot, and his right
shoulder with the other. The can is of no moment, for cans are not
dangerous; but when I show you how to reload, I want you to aim at the
can, as if it were the buckle of a belt. You take to that Colt like a
duck takes to water--and before you get home today you'll surprise
yourself. Now, to eject the empties and to reload--and by the way, Miss
Saunders, if I were you, carrying that gun as you must carry it, I'd
leave one cartridge out, and let the hammer rest on the empty chamber."
The lesson went on, his pupil slowly becoming enthused and finding that
it truly was a sport. When she had made four out of five in the
marked-off space she was greatly elated and would have continued
shooting after she was tired, but her tutor refused to let her.
"That is enough for now," he laughed. "On our way back you may try a
few more rounds if you wish. No use to tire yourself, especially after
such a creditable showing. In these few minutes you graduated out of
the defenseless-woman class, and may God help anybody who discounts your
defense. You see, the main thing is not the shooting, but the freedom
from fear of weapons and knowing how to use them. There is nothing
mysterious about a Colt--it won't blow up, or shoot behind. Whatever
timidity you may have had about handling one has been overcome, and in a
few minutes you have learned to hold it right and to shoot it. The bare
threat of a gun held in capable hands is in most cases enough. Now, if
you please, I'll try my left hand at the can. I wear only one gun, but
it may be necessary to wear two--and while my left hand has been trained
to shoot well, this is a good opportunity to exercise it."
Filling the can with sand and dirt to weigh it against rolling, he
stepped back twenty paces, tossed his own Colt into his left hand,
dropped the butt to his hip and sent six shots at the crimson target.
Stepping from the smoke cloud he advanced and examined the can. One
bullet had clipped its upper edge, another had grazed one side, while
the other four were grouped in the sand within a radius only; a little
larger than that of the target.
"That wouldn't do for two of my friends," he laughed, "but it's good
enough for me. Not a shot would have missed the target I had in mind.
Had I shot as quickly as I could, I might have missed the target
altogether, but close enough for practical purposes. On the other hand,
had I taken a little more time, the score would be better."
Jane's mouth still was open in delighted surprise. "Do you mean to tell
me that anyone can do better than that, from the hip, without sighting
at all?" she demanded incredulously.
"Oh, yes," he replied, reloading the weapon. "Quite some few, notably
those two friends of whom I spoke. You see I am satisfied in attaining
practical perfection in my left hand, knowing that my other is skilled
to a higher degree; but my friends must spend their time and cartridges
painting the lily. Either Johnny or Hopalong would feel quite chagrined
if at least five hadn't cut into the can. You should see them shooting
against each other, breaking matches to get the exact measurements and
arguing as if a fortune depended on it. Why, Miss Saunders, either of
them could walk into Williams' hotel on a busy night, give warning, and
empty two guns in less than ten seconds, every shot hitting a man. They
have faced greater odds than that, both of them."
"You mean that one man could defeat a crowd like that?"
"Exactly; but they would not have to fire a shot," he said, smiling.
"You see, such a man would only have to throw down on the crowd to hold
them in check, if they know he will go through with his play. It isn't
unlike an arch. The keystone in this case is the fear of certain death
to the man who leads. The first man in the crowd to make a play would
die. To some people martyrdom has a morbidly pleasant appeal as an
abstract proposition; but in a concrete state, where the suffering is
not vicarious, it really has few devotees. And here is a psychological
fact: every man in the front rank of such a crowd is fully convinced
that he has been selected for the target if the rush starts. Hopalong
and Johnny would go through with their play if their hand was forced,
and they are the kind of men whose expressions assure that they will.
It is a great comfort to have them with you if you must enter a hostile
town. It's a gift, like the gift of keener, swifter reflexes."
"It seems so impossible," commented Jane. "Won't you please try your
other hand at a can? Somehow I felt that the snake was killed by
accident more than skill. It seemed absurd, the offhand way you did
it."
"This really is no test," he responded, filling another can and stepping
back as he shifted the weapon to the right hand. "There is not the
tenseness which a great stake causes; but, on the other hand, there is
not the high-tension signals to the muscles. Watch closely," and the
jarring crashes sounded like a loud ripping. One hole through the
picture of a perfect tomato, two just above it, two lower down, and the
sixth on the upper edge of the can gave mute testimony that he shot
well.
She fairly squealed with delight and clapped her hands in spontaneous
enthusiasm. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Oh, if I ever could shoot like
that! I don't believe those friends can even equal it, and I don't care
how good they are." Her face beamed. "But that must have taken a great
deal of practice."
"Years of it," he replied, "coupled to a natural aptitude. While the
accuracy is good enough, that is of secondary consideration. Had only
one bullet struck the target, or grazed it, the other five would not
have been necessary. The speed of the draw is the great thing. Any man
used to shooting a revolver can hit that mark once in six--but he is far
from a real gunman if he can't beat ninety-nine men out of a hundred in
firing the first shot. That is what counts with a gun-fighter. His
target is almost any place between the belt and the shoulders. If he
strikes there and does not kill his man he will have time for a second
shot if it is needed. My left hand is as deadly as my right against a
living target so far as accuracy is concerned; but pit it against my
right and it would be hopelessly lost, dead before it could get the gun
out of the holster. And Hopalong Cassidy twice gave me lessons in the
fine art of drawing--once in an exhibition and the second time in what
would have been mortal combat if he had not allowed his heart to guide
his head. I did not in the least merit his mercy. I had lived a wild,
careless life, Miss Saunders; but it changed from that day."
"Jerry told me why you made him give up wearing his revolver," she said,
thoughtfully. "I did not fully appreciate his words; but the graphic
exposition lacks nothing to be convincing. Was your interest in his
welfare another of your generalities?"
Her companion laughed. "Jerry is a very likable chap, Miss Saunders.
Knowing that some feeling against him existed, and not knowing into what
it might develop, I only followed the promptings of caution. He is a
gentleman and a man infinitely finer grained than the rest of the
inhabitants of Windsor. He is honorable and he lacks insight into the
common motives which impel many men to perform acts he would not
countenance. I have knocked about the West for twenty years, seeing it
at its best and at its worst--and you simply cannot conceive what that
worst is. I have met many Gus Williamses and Jakes and Bud Haineses and
Henry Williamses. They are almost a distinct variation of the human
species; they are a recognized and classified type. I knew them all as
soon as I saw them. Bud Haines is a natural killer. He'd kill a man at
a nod from the man who hired him. Gus Williams hires him, knowing that.
Henry, the nephew, is foul, a sneak, and a coward. I'd rather see a
sister of mine in her grave than married to him. But he is Gus
Williams' nephew, the second power in town and must not be overlooked;
and he never will know how close to death he has been these last few
days. It fairly has breathed in his face. But we've had enough of
this: not far ahead is a fairly good place for our lunch, unless you
would prefer to go on to the C Bar."
"Why have you mentioned the nephew to me?" demanded Jane, her cheeks
flushed and a fear in her eyes.
"Did I single him out?" asked Tex in surprise. "Why, I only mentioned
him, along with the others, while giving examples of a detestable type
and to explain why Jerry should not go about armed. I hope I have not
frightened you, Miss Saunders?"
"You have not frightened me," she answered. "I have been frightened for
a long time. We are so helpless! Things which bother me, I dare not
speak to him about them, for he only would get into trouble and to no
avail. He cannot pick and choose; and I must stand by him, no matter
where he goes, or what he does. Is there mercy in heaven, is there
justice in God, that we should be so circumscribed, forced by ills hard
enough in themselves to bear, into still greater ills? Jerry's lungs
would be tragedy enough for us to bear; but when I look around at times
and see--do you believe in God, Mr. Jones?"
"What I may or may not believe in is no aid to you, Miss Saunders,"
replied Tex, amazed at his reaction to her distress. It was all he
could do to keep from taking her in his arms. It was a lucky thing for
Henry Williams that he finally abandoned the idea of following them.
"If you have been taught to believe in a Divine Power, then don't you
turn away from it. To say there is no God is to be as dogmatic as to
say there is; for every reasoning being must admit a First Cause. It is
only when we characterize it, and attempt to give It attributes that
differences of opinions arise. I am not going to enter into any
discussion with you on subjects of this nature, Miss Saunders. Nor am I
going to tell you what my convictions are. They do not concern us. If
you have any religious belief, cling to it: this is when it should begin
paying dividends."
"Have you read Kant?"
"Yes; and Spencer tears him apart."
"You are familiar with Spencer?"
"As I am with my own name. To my way of thinking his is the greatest
mind humanity ever produced--but, with your permission, we will change
the subject."
"Not just yet, please," she said. "You admire his logical reasoning?"
"I refuse to answer," he smiled. "Here, let me give you an example of
logical reasoning, Miss Saunders. Here are two coins," he said, digging
two double eagles out of his pocket, "which, along with thousands of
others, we will say, were struck from one die. You and I would say that
they are identical, especially after the most thorough and minute
examination failed to disclose any differences. I hardly believe that
any man, no matter how much he may be aided by instruments of precision,
can take two freshly minted coins from the same die and find any
difference. But what does pure logic say?"
"Certainly not that there is any difference?" she challenged in frank
surprise.
He chuckled. "That is just what it claims, and here is the reasoning:
No one will deny that the die wears out with use, which is the same as
saying that the impressions change it. To deny that they do is to say
that it does not wear out, which is absurd. Therefore each impression,
being a part of the total impressions, must have done its share in the
changing. And each impression, having changed it, must be different
from those preceding and following it. Now, if the die changes, as we
have just proved that it does, so must the coins struck off from it, for
to say otherwise is to claim that effects are not produced by causes,
and that a changed die will not make changed coins. Therefore, there
are no two coins absolutely alike, never have been, and never can be,
even at the moment they leave the die. Put them into circulation and
the hypothetical differences rapidly increase, since no two of the coins
can possibly receive the same treatment in their travelings. There you
have it, in pure logic: but does it get you any place? On the strength
of it, would you persist in denying that these coins are dissimilar?
Are they so practically? And it is from practical logic that we draw
the deductions by which we think and move and live. So you take my word
that it will be better for you to cling to whatever faith you may have.
If it is not practical enough for you, I'll look after that end for you;
and between your faith and the cunning of my gun-hand I'll warrant that
your brother will come to no harm. Shall we lunch at the C Bar, or in
that little clump of burned and sickly timber on the bank of that
dried-up creek?"
"I'm really too hungry to postpone the lunch," she said, smiling;
"besides I want to watch you in camp, and to listen to you. It seems to
me that you have too keen a brain to be spending your life where it all
is wasted."
"Your compliment is disposed of by the fact that I am what I am," he
responded. "The return compliment of not being able to be in a better
place, under present conditions, is so obvious that I'll not spoil its
effect by saying it. Anyhow, a fair vocabulary and a veneer of
knowledge are not the measures of wisdom, but rather a disguising coat.
To come right down to elementals, I heartily agree with you about the
lunch. I'll be better company after the inner man has been properly
attended to, for food always leavens my cynicism. Did I hear you ask
why I do not eat continually?"
The clump of browned trees reached, it took but little time to unpack
the lunch and start a cunningly built fire of twigs and broken branches,
over which the coffee quickly heated. Depressing as the surroundings
were, barren and sun-baked as far as eye could see, the bed of the creek
dried and cracked and curling, this scene was destined to live long in
the memory of Tex Ewalt. The food, better cooked and far more daintily
prepared than any he could recall, tasted doubly good in the presence of
his intelligent, good-looking companion. The subjects of their
interested discussions were wide in range and neither very long
maintained a certain restraint which had characterized their earlier
conversations. She led him to talk of the West as it was, as he had
seen it, and as he hoped it would become; a skillful question starting
him off anew, and her intelligent comments keeping him at his best. So
absorbed were they that even he failed to hear the step of a horse and
did not know of its presence until an eager, if timid, hail stopped him
short.
"Gosh, you people look cheerful," called Tommy Watkins, gazing at Jane
with his heart in his eyes.
"Sorry I can't say the same about your looks," chuckled Tex, his quick
glance noting the boyishness of their visitor, his youthful freshness
and the rebellious admiration in his unblinking eyes. Tex took himself
in hand and crushed the feeling of jealousy which tingled in him and
threatened to show itself in words, looks, and actions. He looked
inquiringly at his companion and at her slight nod, he beckoned to the
youth. "Come over here an' make it three-handed, cowboy," he called.
"We'll salvage what we can of th' lunch an' feed it to you. Did you
find the ranch there, when you got home th' other night?"
Tommy rode up and gravely dismounted. "Yes, it was there. They said
you hadn't been around so far as they knew, so I had my hasty ride for
nothin'. How'd'y do, ma'am?" he asked, his hat going under his arm.
"Very well, indeed," replied Jane, smiling and fixing a place for him at
her other side. "I'm sorry you did not come while there was more to
eat, although I'll confess that I am not apologizing for my share of the
havoc. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a meal as I have
this lunch. Sit here, Mr. Watkins--I am glad that there is some coffee
left."
"That's what I get for being thrifty and thinking of the future,"
laughed Tex. "It's like the men who work hard and save all their lives,
so that someone else can spend for them. Here you go, Thomas: look
out--it's still hot."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Tommy, flushing and embarrassed, as he dropped
onto the spot indicated. "I ain't a bit hungry, though."
"You will be after the first bite," assured Tex. "The cups have been
used, and there's no water for washing them. That's excuse enough for
any man to drink out of the pail, and I envy you there, Tommy Watkins.
Cattle gettin' along all right in spite of the drought? Expect to have a
big gain this round-up? They ought to bring top-notch prices if they're
in good shape."
Steered easily into familiar channels of conversation, Tommy got on
well, so well that his embarrassment gradually disappeared and he was
nearly his natural self; but he did envy his friend's ability to think
coherently and to talk with fluent ease on any subject mentioned. Jane
Saunders learned more about cows, cattle, steers, calves, cows, cattle,
riding, roping, round-ups, branding, cows, calves, horses, cattle, and
other ranch subjects than she thought existed to be learned. And she
shot a glance of grateful appreciation at Tex Jones for the way in which
he put their guest on his feet and kept him there through several vocal
flounderings. It was so tactfully done that Tommy did not realize it.
Gradually Tex worked out of the conversation and studied his companions.
He saw clean youth entertaining clean youth; a bubbling mirth free from
suspicion or irony; an absence of cynicism, and an unbounding faith in
the future. He hid his smile at how Tommy was led to talk of himself
and of his ambitions. They looked to be about the same age, Tommy
perhaps a few years her senior; and when she looked at Tommy there was
friendliness in her eyes; and when Tommy looked at her there was a great
deal more in his.
The keen, but apparently careless, observer silently and fairly reviewed
the years that had passed since he had been at Tommy's age; the lack of
illusions, the cold, cynical practicality of his thoughts and actions;
the laws, both civil and moral, which he contemptuously had shattered.
He could not remember the time when he had had Tommy's faith in men, nor
his enthusiasm. Tommy was looking forward to a life of clean, hard work,
and actually with a fierce eagerness. Never had such a thing been an
impelling motive in the life of Tex Ewalt. Instead he had planned
shrewdly and consistently how to avoid working for a living, and when it
was solved, then how to live higher and higher with the least additional
effort. And he now admitted that if he had the chance to live that
period over again, under the same circumstances, he would repeat his
course in the major things. He felt neither regret nor remorse at the
contrast--he had lived as it pleased him, and the Tex Ewalt of today had
no censure for the Tex Ewalt of yesterday. But he was fair, at all
events; and to draw true deductions from accepted facts was an art not
to be perverted because expediency might beckon. After all, he did not
try to fool himself; and he was no hypocritical whiner. Being fair, he
calmly realized that he was the unfitting unit of this triangle, that he
did not belong there. But there would be time enough for such
cogitation later on.
"Shore," Tommy was dogmatically asserting. "Th' rattler gets all
cramped up an' tired, an' there is an instant when he can't turn fast
enough to keep his nasty little eyes on th' other, that's racin' around
him like a flash. That's th' end of th' rattler. Th' kingsnake darts
in, grabs th' rattler behind th' head, an' after a great thrashin'
around, kills him dead. _Ain't_ that so, Mr. Jones?"
Tex lazily turned his head and looked at the doubting auditor and then
at the anxious Tommy. He gravely nodded. "Yes that's th' end. That's
the enemy within the snake's own species which I mentioned back on the
trail, Miss Saunders."
The look of doubt faded from her face and a nebulous smile transformed
it. She was certain of it now.
Tex flamed at what that change told him, tingling to his finger tips
with a surging elation. He felt that he had but to speak three words to
put her vague feelings into a coherent wonder of wonders; but to
crystallize them into an everlasting passion by the alchemy of his
avowal, or the touch of his lips. The lulled storm within him broke out
anew and blazed fiercely. He arose, kicked an inoffensive tin can over
the bed of the creek and spun it in mid-air by a vicious, eye-baffling
shot from his Colt. Realizing how he had forgotten himself, and his
resolutions, he, the cool, imperturbable Tex Ewalt, he recovered his
poise and bowed, smilingly, to the surprised pair.
"That's shootin', Tex!" cried Tommy.
"It's more than that," smiled Tex. "It's notice that it's time to try
that .38, Miss Saunders," he announced. "She is learning to use a gun,
Tommy--I've been telling her how much fun it is. I'll call th' shots
while you stand by her to answer questions. Suppose we have a more
suitable target, this time. What can we use?"
Tommy grinned expansively. "Who's goin' to do th' shootin'?" he
demanded.
"Miss Saunders," answered Tex. "Why?"
"Oh; all right then--here, prop up my hat," offered Tommy; "But not too
all-fired close!" he warned.
"There's chivalry for you, Mr. Jones!" triumphantly exclaimed Jane, her
eyes dancing.
"Think so?" queried Tex, grinning. "Huh!" He shook his head. "I'd say
he is not paying you any compliment. Just for that I hope you shoot it
to pieces."
He took the sombrero from Tommy's extended hand, went down and crossed
the creek bed, and placed the hat against the opposite bank. Stepping
off twenty paces he drew a line on the earth with the side of his boot
sole and beckoned to the flushed markswoman.
"That hat is a pressing danger," he warned. "You've got to get it, or
it'll get you. Don't be careless, and don't waste any sympathy on the
grinning wretch who owns it."
"But I don't want to ruin it," she protested. "Surely something else
will answer?"
"You go ahead an' ruin it, if you can," chuckled Tommy. "Don't _you_
worry none--_I_ ain't!"
"I do believe it wasn't a compliment, or chivalry, at all," she laughed.
"All right, Mr. Watkins: here goes for a new hat!" Slowly,
deliberately, holding her arm as she had been instructed, she aimed and
fired until the weapon was empty. The hat had a hole near one edge of
the crown and another near the edge of the brim.
"Glory be!" exclaimed Tommy. "I'm votin' for a new target! Why that's
plumb fine, Miss Saunders--if it ain't an accident!"
"Let's see if it was," suggested Tex, handing her another round of
cartridges. "Here!" he exclaimed, glancing at Tommy. "Where you goin'
so fast?"
"To collect th' ruins," retorted the puncher over his shoulder. "_You_
got a hat, ain't you?"
"I have, and I'm keeping it right where it belongs," rejoined Tex. "I
didn't suggest that it was any accident, did I?"
*CHAPTER X*
*SPEED AND GUILE*
Tex and Tommy said their adieus, watched Jane enter the house, and then
rode slowly toward the station where, after a few words with Jerry
Saunders, Tommy went on alone, leaving Tex talking with the agent.
The C Bar puncher rode down the main street full of more kinds of
emotion than he ever had known before, and among them was a strong
feeling of his inability to gain Jane's attention while Tex Jones was
around. Jealousy was working in the yeasty turbulence of his heart and
mind. Taking off his perforated sombrero he gazed at it as though it
were something sacred. There they were, two of them, made by her
blessed bullets! Reverently pushing the ragged felt of their rims back
into place, he patted the nearly closed holes and put the sombrero on
his head again. There would be no new hat for Tommy Watkins, as she had
laughingly said. No, sir! No, sir-e-e!
Opposite the hotel he became aware of his surroundings and suddenly
decided that he needed a drink to steady himself, to shock himself into
a more natural condition of mind. As he made the decision, he idly
observed Bud Haines emerge from the door of the general store and start
toward him on the peculiar, bow-legged, choppy stride he so much
affected. And as Tommy swung off the horse and carelessly tossed the
reins across the tie-rail he caught sight of Tex Jones waving to the
agent and slowly wheeling the roan.
Tommy made his way through the card-table end of the room, noticing
without giving any particular weight to the fact, that he was the
cynosure of all eyes. Still strange to himself and very much occupied
by his thoughts, he did not note whether there were six or two dozen men
in the room; nor that their eager and low-voiced conversation abruptly
ceased upon his entry, and that there was an air of expectancy which
seemed to fill the room. He passed Henry Williams, who was seated at a
small table, with a nod and rested his elbows on the bar. Silently a
bottle and glass were placed before him, silently he poured out a drink
and downed it mechanically. Then Henry spoke, his ratlike eyes for a
moment not shifting.
"That's a fenced range," he said in a low, tense voice. "You keep off
it!"
Tommy, not realizing that the words were intended for him, still rested
his elbows on the bar, his back to the speaker and the rest of the room,
buried in his abstractions. He neither saw nor heard the quiet, quick
entry of Bud Haines through the front door, nor knew that the gunman
stopped suddenly and leaned against the jamb. Neither he, nor anyone
else, caught the quiet step nearing that same door from the street.
Henry Williams, finding his warning totally ignored, let his anger leap
to rage.
"You!" he snarled. "I'm talking to you, Watkins!"
Tommy started and swung around, momentarily out of touch with his
surroundings. The meanness in the voice, the deadly timbre of it,
warned him subconsciously rather than acutely, and he stared at the
speaker.
"What you say, Williams?" he asked, rapidly sensing the hostility in the
air. "I was thinkin' of somethin'," he explained.
"I'm givin' you somethin' to think about!" retorted Henry, slowly
arising and slowly leaning forward on the table. "You don't want to
stop thinkin' about it, neither--unless you want to join th' dead uns on
Boot Hill. I said that range is fenced--_you keep off_!"
Tommy, alert as a coiled snake now, watched the angry man while he
considered. A fenced range. He was to keep off. "I ain't gettin' th'
drift of that," he said, slowly. "Any reason why you shouldn't talk so
I'll know what yo're meanin'?"
"Yo're dumb as h--l, ain't you?" sneered Henry, his voice rising shrilly
and the little, close-set eyes beginning to flame. "I wouldn't have
nobody say you wasn't warned plain. I'm tellin' you for th' last time,
to do yore courtin' somewhere else! I'm claimin' that Saunder gal.
Keep away, that's all!"
Tommy went a little white around his stiffening lips. When his words
came they sounded the spirit of the C Bar, but where they came from he
did not know; perhaps he had heard them or read them somewhere.
Certainly they did not by right belong to his direct method of conveying
thought. He knew Henry Williams, his baseness, his petty villainies,
his bestial nature. The picture of Jane, innocent and sweet, came to
him and made a contrast which sickened him. Looking straight into
Henry's eyes his voice rasped its insulting, deadly reply.
"It's bad enough for a coyote like me to admire a rose; but I'm d--d if
any polecat's goin' to pluck it!"
Before the words were all spoken and before either of the disputants
could move they heard the startling crash of a gun and instinctively
glanced toward the sound. They saw Bud Haines, his smoking revolver
forced slowly up behind his back, higher and higher, the gun wrist
gripped in the sinewy fingers of Tex Jones, whose right hand held his
own Colt at his hip, the deadly muzzle covering the two in front of the
bar, without a tremble of its steely barrel. His gripping fingers kept
on twisting, while one knee held the killer from writhing sidewise to
escape the grip of the punishing bending of the imprisoned arm. Slowly
the tortured muscles grew numb, slowly beads of perspiration stood out
on the killer's forehead, and as his throbbing elbow neared the snapping
point, he gasped, released his hold on the Colt and then went spinning
across the room from the power of his captor's whirling shove. When he
stopped he froze in his tracks, for Tex carelessly held two guns now,
the captured weapon covering its owner.
"Phew!" sighed Tex, a grin slowly spreading across his red face. "That
was close, that was! Reckon I done saved quite a mess in here." He
glared at Tommy. "You get th' h--l out of here an' don't come back till
you know how to act! Runnin' around like a mad dog, tryin' to kill men
that never done you no harm! G'wan, or I'll let Hennery loose at you! I
heard what you said, an' I wouldn't blame him if he blowed you wide
open! G'wan! Shove that gun back where it belongs, an' git: _Pronto_!
You've gone an' got Bud an' me bad friends, I reckon, an' I can't hardly
blame him, neither."
Henry's eyes were riveted on the menacing Colt, his hand frozen where it
had stopped, a few inches above the butt of his own. Bud Haines leaned
forward, balanced on the balls of his feet, but not daring to leap. The
spectators were staring, open-mouthed, quite content to let things take
their course without any impetus from them.
Tommy sullenly slid the gun back into its holster and walked toward the
door, too angry to speak. Glaring at Tex he went out, mounted and rode
toward the ranch; and it was half an hour later before he came to the
realization that his life had been saved from a shot from the side, and
by the time he had reached the ranchhouse he was grinning.
Tex flipped the captured gun into the air, caught it by the barrel, and
tossed it, butt first, to the killer. "I shore am apologizin' to you,
Bud," he said, "for cuttin' in that way--but I had to act sudden, an'
rough."
As the weapon settled into its owner's hand it roared and leaped, the
bullet cutting Tex's vest under the armpit. Before a second shot could
follow from it Bud twisted sidewise and plunged face down on the floor.
Tensed like a panther about to spring, Tex peered through the thinning
cloud of smoke rising from his hip, his attention on the others in the
room. "Sorry," he said. "You saw it all. I gave him his gun, butt
first, an' he shot at me with it. Clipped my vest under my left
shoulder. I couldn't do nothin' else. I'm sayin' that doin' favors for
strangers is risky business--but is anybody findin' any fault with this
shootin'?" He glanced quickly from face to face and then nodded
slightly. "It was plain self-defense. If I'd 'a' thought he was
a-goin' to shoot I shore wouldn't 'a' chucked him his loaded gun.
Reckon I'm a plain d--d fool!"
There were no replies to him. The tense faces stared at the man who had
killed Bud Haines in a fight after the killer had shot first. While
there were no accusations in their expressions, neither was there any
friendliness. The killing had been justified. This seemed to be the
collective opinion, for in no way could the facts be changed. Bud had
been man-handled in a manner which to him had been an unbearable insult,
the fight could be considered as of his adversary's starting, but the
actual shooting was as the victor claimed; and it was the shooting which
they were to judge.
Tex, feeling ruefully of the bullet-torn vest, shoved his gun into its
sheath and went over to Henry's table. The nephew hardly had moved
since the first shot.
"I got somethin' to talk to you about, Henry," said Tex in a low,
confidential voice. "'Tain't for everybody's ears, neither; so sit down
a minute. That fool Watkins came cuttin' in as we was ridin' back, or I
might have more news."
Henry slowly followed his companion's movements and straddled his chair.
He motioned to the bartender for drinks and then let his suspicious eyes
wander over his companion's face. He had a vast respect for Tex Jones.
"I reckon he's been cured of cuttin' in," he growled, a momentary gleam
showing. "That's a habit of yourn, too," he said. "An' it's a cussed
bad one, here in Windsor."
Tex spread his hands in helpless resignation. "I know it. Ever since
I've been in this town I been puttin' my worst foot forward. I'm allus
bunglin' things; an' just when I was beginnin' to make a few friends,
Bud had to go an' git blind mad an' spoil everythin'. I didn't have
nothin' ag'in' Bud; but I reckon mebby I was a little mite rough."
"Oh, Bud be d--d!" coldly retorted Henry. "He had th' edge, an' lost.
That's between him an' you. What I'm objectin' to, Jones, is th' way you
spoiled my plans. Don't you never cut into my affairs like you did just
now. I'm tellin' you fair. I'm admittin' yo're a prize-winnin'
gun-thrower; but there's other ways in this town. Savvy?"
Tex shook his head apologetically and nodded. "You an' me ain't goin' to
have no trouble, Hennery," he declared earnestly. "If you want that C
Bar fool, go git him. It ain't none of my business. But I'm worryin'
about what yore uncle's goin' to say about me shootin' Bud," he
confessed with plain anxiety. "He's a big man, Williams is; an' me,
shucks: I ain't nothin' a-tall."
"He'll take my say-so," assured Henry, "after he cools down. Now what
you got to tell me?"
"It's about that Saunders gal," answered Tex. He hitched his chair a
little nearer to the table. "You remember what I told you, couple of
nights ago? Well, I got to thinkin' about it when I was near th' station
yesterday, so I went in an' got friendly with her brother." He rubbed
his chin and grinned reminiscently. "There was a box across th' track
that he had been using for a target. I asked him what it was an' he
told me, an' he said he couldn't hit it. I sort of egged him on, not
believin' him; an' shore enough he couldn't--an', Hennery, it was near
as big as a house! I cut loose an' made a sieve of it--you must 'a'
heard th' shootin'? His eyes plumb stuck out, an' we got to talkin'
shootin'. Finally he ups an' asks me can I show his sister how to throw
a gun an', seein' my chance to learn somethin' about her, I said I shore
could show anybody that wasn't scared to death of one, an' that had any
sense. 'How much will you charge for th' lessons?' says he. I had a
good chance to pick up some easy money, but that wasn't what I was
playin' for. I just wanted to get sort of friendly with her, an' him,
too. I says, 'Nothin'.' Well, we fixed it up, an' today we goes off
practicin'--you should 'a' seen that lunch, Hennery! I'm cussed near
envyin' you!" He laughed contentedly, leaned back, and rubbed his
stomach.
"Well?" demanded Henry, grinning ruefully.
"Well," echoed Tex. "You know that sewin' an' crochetin' is a whole lot
different from shootin' a .45; an' so does she, now. I reckon a .22
would 'most scare her to death. Did you ever shoot with yore eyes shut?
You don't have to try: it can't be done, an' hit nothin'. Six-guns an'
wimmin wasn't never made to mix; an' they shore don't. We ate up th'
lunch an' started back ag'in, an' I was just gettin' set to swing th'
conversation in yore direction, carelesslike, but real careful, an' see
what I could find out for you, when cussed if that C Bar coyote didn't
come dustin' up, an' I don't know any more than I did before. But I'm
riskin' one thing, Hennery: I'm near shore she ain't got nothin' ag'in'
you; an' on th' way out, when I refers to you she speaks up quicklike,
with her nose turned up a little, an' says: 'Henry Williams? Why, he'll
be a rich man some day, when his uncle dies. Ain't some folks born
lucky, Mr. Jones?' Hennery, there ain't none of 'em that are overlookin'
th' good old pesos, U.S. You keep right on like you are; an' save me a
front seat at th' weddin'."
Henry sat back, buried in thought. He glanced at the huddled figure
near the door and then looked quickly into his companion's bland eyes.
"Her brother's dead set ag'in' it. He knows he done me a dirty trick,
stealin' my job, an' like lots of folks, instead of hatin' hisself, he
hates me. Human nature's funny that way. So he can't hit a box, hey?"
Tex chuckled and nodded. "He up an' says he's so plumb disgusted with
hisself that he ain't never goin' to tote a gun again, not never. Seems
to me yo're doin' a lot of foolish worryin' about losin' that job. That
ain't no job to worry about. If I was Gus Williams' only relation, you
wouldn't see me lookin' for no jobs! You shore got th' wrong idea,
Hennery. What do you want to work for, anyhow?"
"Well," considered the nephew of the uncle who some day would die, "that
is one way of lookin' at it; but, Tex, he did me out of it. That's
what's rilin' me!"
Tex leaned back and laughed heartily. "Hennery, you make me laugh! If
I got mad an' riled at every dog that barked at me I'd be plumb soured
for life by this time. A man like you should be above holdin' grudges
ag'in' fellers like Saunders. It ain't worth th' risk of spoilin' yore
disposition. Let him have his dried-out bone: you would 'a' dropped it
quick enough, anyhow. An' if it wasn't for him gettin' that
two-by-nothin' old job you wouldn't never 'a' seen his sister, would
you? Ever think about it like that? Well, what you think? Had I
better try to go ridin' with her ag'in an' git her to talkin'? Or shall
I set back an' only keep my eyes an' ears open?"
"What's interestin' you so much in this here affair?" questioned Henry,
his glance resting for a moment on the face of his companion.
"Well, I ain't got that letter," confessed Tex, slyly; "an' what's more,
I'm afraid I ain't goin' to get it, neither, th' coyote. He lets me
come out here, near th' end of th' track, an' then lets me hold th'
sack. Time's comin' when I'll be needin' a job; an' yo're aces-up with
yore uncle." He grinned engagingly. "My cards is face up. I got to
look out for myself."
Henry laughed softly. "You shore had me puzzled," he replied. "Well,
we'll see what we see. I don't hardly know, yet, what kind of a job you
ought to have. There's good jobs, an' poor jobs. An' while I think of
it, Tex, you'd mebby better go ridin' with her ag'in. But don't you
forget what I was sayin' about there bein' other ways than gun-throwin'
in Windsor. I----"
The low hum of conversation about them ceased as abruptly as did Henry's
words. He was looking at the door, and sensing danger, Tex pushed back
quietly and followed his companion's gaze. Jake, under the influence of
liquor, stood in the doorway, a gun in his upraised hand, staring with
unbelieving eyes at the body of Bud Haines.
"Stop that fool!" whispered Tex. "I've done too much killin' today: an'
he's drunk!"
Henry arose and walked quietly, swiftly toward the vengeful miner, who
now turned and looked about the room. A spasm of rage shot through him
and his hand chopped down, but Henry knocked it aside and the heavy
bullet scored the wall. Two men near the door leaped forward at the
nephew's call and after a short struggle, Jake was disarmed, pacified,
and sent on his way again.
Tex dropped his gun back into the holster and went up to the nephew.
"Much obliged, Hennery," he said. "I've been expectin' him most every
minute an' I'm glad you handled it so good. Where's he been keepin'
hisself, anyhow?"
"Out in his cabin, nursin' his grudge," answered Henry. "He's one of
them kind. He's got it chalked up ag'in' you, Tex, an' it'll smolder
an' smolder, no tellin' how long. Then it'll bust out ag'in, like it
did just now. Keep out of his way--he's a good man, Jake is. He's a
friend of mine."
"That's good enough for me," Tex assured him. "I ain't got no grudge
ag'in' Jake. It's th' other way 'round. Reckon I'll put up my cayuse.
See you later."
*CHAPTER XI*
*EMPTY HONORS*
The dramatic death of Bud Haines created a ripple of excitement in
Windsor which ran a notch higher than any killing of recent years. The
late gunman posed as a gunman, swaggeringly, exultantly. Himself a
contributor of victims to Boot Hill, his going there aroused a great
deal more satisfaction than resentment. He was unmourned, but not
unsung, and the question raised by his passing concerned the living more
than the dead. How would his conqueror behave?
Bud was an out-and-out killer, cold, dispassionate, calculating; one
whose gun was for hire and salary. He had no sympathy, no softer side to
his nature, if his fellow-townsmen knew him right. The crooked mouth,
grown into a lop-sided sneer, had been a danger signal to everyone who
saw him, and through his up-to-then invincible gun Williams had passed
his days in confidence, his nights in sleep. He had been taciturn,
unsmiling, grim, and the few words he occasionally uttered were never
cryptic. On the other hand Tex Jones was voluble, talked loosely and
foolishly and had shown signs at poker that his courage was not what it
should be to wrap the mantle of the fallen man about him and play his
part; but had it been truly shown? Was his poker playing a true index
to his whole nature? There was his brief, high-speed, complete mastery
over Jake, himself a man bad enough to merit wholesome respect; there
was the cool killing of Bud, and the nonchalant actions of the victor
after the tragedy. He scarcely had given his victim a second look.
This question, as all questions do, provided argument. Gus Williams,
sullen and morose at losing a valuable man in whose fidelity he could
place full trust, and on whose prowess his own power largely rested,
maintained that Tex Jones had pulled the trigger mechanically, and that
it had been for him a lucky accident. His nephew took issue with him
and paid his new companion full credit. The miners were about evenly
divided, while Carney openly exulted and made the victory his principal
topic of conversation. It helped him in another way, for there are some
who blindly follow a champion, and the Windsor champion kept his horse
and spent many of his spare hours at Carney's. John Graves sighed with
relief at Bud's passing, due to an old score he had feared would be
reopened, and he urged the appointment of Tex Jones for city marshal, a
position hitherto unfilled in Windsor. Carney was for this heart and
soul, and offered a marshal's office rent free. It was a lean-to
adjoining his saloon.
The railroad element breathed easier now. Tim Murphy wanted to bet on
the new man against anyone, at any style, and he glowed with pride as he
realized that he, perhaps, was nearer to Tex Jones than any man in town.
He had no trouble in persuading Costigan to look with warm favor on the
successor to Bud Haines. Jerry Saunders, remembering a bit of gun
practice, said he was not surprised and he exulted secretly. Tex Jones
had been the first man outside of the railroad circle to give him a kind
word and to show friendship; but he had little to say about it after the
door of his home closed upon him.
Jerry's sister puzzled him. He saw traces of tears, strange moods came
over her which swept her from gaiety to black despondency in the course
of an hour or two, and no matter how he figured, he could not understand
her. The story of how the affair had started and of Tommy Watkins' part
in it made her moods more complex and unfathomable. Jane, he decided,
was not only peculiar, but downright foolish. Bud Haines, being but a
free member of Williams' own body, executing his wishes and the wishes
of the detestable nephew, had been an evil whose potentiality could only
be conjectured. He had been swept off the board and his conqueror was
at heart very friendly to the Saunders family. They no longer were the
most helpless people in town.
When Jerry had gone home on the day of the tragedy he had been full of
the exploit, for Murphy and he had discussed it from every angle, and he
had absorbed a great deal of the big Irishman's open delight.
Stunned at first, Jane flatly refused to talk about it, and had fled
from the supper table to her room. Later on when he had cautiously
broached the subject again, quoting the enthusiastic Murphy almost
entirely, to show that his own opinions were well founded, she had
listened to all he had to say, but had remained dumb. The evening was
anything but pleasant and he had gone to bed in an unconcealed huff.
She gave credit to Watkins but withheld it from Jones, who had earned it
all. "D--n women, anyhow," had been his summing up.
The following morning he ate a silent breakfast and hurried to the
station as he would flee to an oasis from the open desert. He found Tim
waiting for him, eager to talk it all over again.
Hardly had the station been opened when Tex rode up, leaped from the
magnificent roan, and sauntered to the door. His face was grave, his
manner dignified and calm. "How'd'y, boys," he said in greeting.
"Proud I am this mornin'," beamed Murphy, his thick, huge hand closing
over the lean, sinewy one of the gunman. "'Twas a fine job ye done,
Tex, my boy; an' a fine way ye did it! Gave th' beast th' first shot!
There's not another man could do it."
"There's plenty could," answered Tex. "I can name two, an' there's many
more. I'm no gunman, understand: I'm just plain Tex Jones. But I
didn't come here to hold any pow-pow--I'm wonderin' if you'd let me look
in th' toolhouse--I might 'a' left it there when we loaded th' hand
car."
"An' what's 'it'?" asked Murphy.
"My knife."
"Come along then," said the section-boss, swinging his keys and leading
the way. They found no knife, but Murphy was given some information
which he considered worth while. As they reached the station door again
Tex burst out laughing.
"I know where it is! Cuss me for a fool, I left it in Carney's stable,
stickin' in th' side of th' harness closet. Oh, well; there's no harm
done." He turned to Jerry. "I wonder if Miss Saunders would like
another bit of practice today?"
Jerry's face clouded. No matter how much he might admire Bud Haines'
master in the late Bud's profession of gun-throwing, and no matter how
much he might admire him for sundry other matters, nevertheless none of
them qualified the new-found friend as an aspirant for his sister's
hand. He did not wish to offend Tex, and certainly he did not want his
enmity. To him came Jane's inexplicable behavior and in coming it
brought an inspiration. Jane, he thought, could handle this matter far
better than he could.
"She didn't seem to be feeling well this morning," he answered. "Still,
I never guess right about her. If you feel like riding again, go up and
ask her."
"I hear there's some talk about them makin' you marshal of this town,"
said Tim. "Don't you shelve it. This town needs a fair man in that
job. It's been quiet of late, but ye can't allus tell. Wait till th'
rains come an' start th' placerin' a-goin'. They'll have money to
spend, then, an' trouble is shore to follow that. You take that job,
Tex."
Jerry nodded eagerly, pointed to some bullet holes in the frame of one
of the windows of the office and, grasping Tex by the arm, led him
closer to the window. "See that bullet hole in there, just over the
table an' below the calendar? The first shot startled me and made me
drop my pen--I stooped to pick it up. When I sat up again there was a
hole in the glass and under the calendar. When I stooped I saved my
life. Just a drunken joke, a miner feeling his oats. One dead man a
week was under the average. This town, under normal conditions, is a
little bit out of h--l. Take that job, Jones: the town needs you."
Tex laughed. "You better wait till it's offered to me, Jerry. There's
quite some people in this town that don't want any marshal. Gus
Williams is the man to start it."
"He will," declared Tim. "Bud was his bodyguard, but he was more.
Williams has a lot of property to be protected, an' now Bud is gone, th'
saints be praised. He'll start it."
While they spoke, a miner was seen striding toward the station and soon
joined them. "How'd'y," he said, carelessly, glancing coldly at Tim and
Jerry. His eyes rested on Tex and glowed a little. "Th' boss wants to
talk with you, Jones. Come a-runnin'."
"Come a-runnin'," rang in Tex's ears and it did not please him. If he
was going to be the city marshal it would be well to start off right.
"Th' boss?" he asked nonplused.
"Shore; Gus--Gus Williams," rejoined the messenger crisply and with a
little irritation. "You know who I mean. Git a move on."
"Mr. Jones' compliments to Mr. Williams," replied Tex with exaggerated
formality, "an' say that Mr. Jones will call on him at Mr. Jones'
convenience. Just at present I'm very busy--good day to you, sir."
The miner stood stock-still while he reviewed the surprising words.
Tex ignored him. "No," he said, "I ain't lookin' for no change in th'
weather till th' moon changes," he explained to the two railroad men.
"But, of course, you know th' old sayin': 'In times of drought all signs
fail.' An' there never was a truer one. I wouldn't be surprised if it
rained any day; an' when it comes it's goin' to rain hard. Still, I
ain't exactly lookin' for it, barrin' the sayin', till th' moon changes.
That's my prophecy, gents; you wait an' see if I ain't right. Well, I
reckon I'll be amblin'. Good day."
They watched him walk to the roan, throw the reins over an arm, and lead
it slowly down the street, followed by the conjecturing messenger. Tex
Jones evidently was in no hurry, for he stopped in two places before
entering the hotel, and in there he remained for a quarter of an hour.
When premature congratulations were offered him he accepted them with
becoming modesty and explained that he was not yet appointed.
Gus Williams looked up with some irritation when the door opened and
admitted Tex into the store. The newcomer leaned against the counter,
nodded to Gus and grinned at Henry. "Hear you want to see me about
somethin'," he said, flickering dust from his boots with a softly
snapping handkerchief.
"What made you shoot Bud Haines?" growled the proprietor, turning on the
stepladder against the shelves.
Tex shook his head in befitting sorrow. "I shore didn't want to shoot
Bud," he answered slowly. "Bud hadn't never done nothin' to me; but,"
he explained, wearily, "he just made me do it. I dassn't let him shoot
twice, dast I?"
Williams growled something and replaced several articles of merchandise.
"Hennery says you had to do it," he grudgingly admitted. "I reckon
mebby you did--_but_, I don't see why you went at Bud like that, in th'
first place."
"I aimed to stop a killin'," muttered Tex, contritely; "an', instead of
doin' it, I went an' made one. I ain't none surprised," he said, sighing
resignedly, "for I generally play in bad luck. Ever since I shot that
black cat, up at Laramie, I've had bad luck--not that I'm what you might
call superstitious," he quickly and defiantly explained.
"Well, a man can't allus help things like that," admitted Williams. "I
had streaks of luck that looked like they never would peter out." He
shifted several articles, leaned back to study their arrangement, and
slowly continued. "You see, Bud had a job that ain't very common; an'
men like Bud ain't very common, neither. He allus was plumb grateful
because I saved his life once in a--stampede," he naively finished. "I
got a lot of valuable property in this here town, and Windsor gets quite
lively when th' placerin' is going good. I shore feel sort of lost
without Bud." He wiped his dusty hands on his trousers and slowly
climbed down. "Now, I remembered that Scrub Oak an' Willow both has
peace officers, an' Windsor shore ain't taking a back seat from towns
like them. Hennery was sayin' that folks here sort of been talkin'
about a city marshal, an' mentionin' you for th' office. We ought to
have our valuable property pertected, an' me, bein' the owner of most of
th' valuable property here an' hereabouts, nat'rally leans to that idea;
but, bein' th' biggest owner of valuable property, I sort of got to look
the man over purty well before I appoint him. I got to have a good man,
a man that'll pertect th' most property first. What you think about
it?"
Tex removed his sombrero, turned it over slowly in his hands and stared
at its dents. Punching them out and pushing in new ones, he gravely
considered them. "Well," he drawled, "you see, if that letter comes--I
don't know how long I'm goin' to stay in town; but if I did stay, I'd
shore do my damndest to pertect property, an' you havin' the most of it,
you'd nat'rally be pertected more'n others that had less."
Williams glanced swiftly at his nephew. "You still expectin' that
letter, Jones?" he slyly demanded.
Tex hesitated and turned the hat over again. "Can't hardly say I am," he
admitted, frowning at Henry. "But there's a sayin' that hope springs
infernal--an' I reckon that's th' h--l of it; a man never knows when to
quit waitin' for it to spring. Meanwhile I got to eat--an' I like a game
of poker once in awhile. Here, tell you what--I'll take the job as long
as I can hold it, if the pay is right. What you reckon the job's worth,
in a lawless, desperate town like this, where no man's life or property
is worth very much?"
Williams scowled. "This here town ain't lawless an' desperate," he
denied. "There ain't a more peaceable town in Kansas!"
"Which same ain't payin' no compliments to Kansas towns, once the rains
come," chuckled Tex. "I'm admirin' your humor, Mr. Williams--I ain't
never heard dryer," he beamed in frank admiration. "But, wet or dry,
there's allus them mean low-down cow-wrastlers comin' to town to likker
up--an' them an' miners are as friendly as a badger and a dog. Let's
name over them as would want the pertection of a marshal, an' then
figger how much they'd sweeten the pot. Take Carney, now--he ought to
be willin' to ante up han'some, his business bein' so healthy."
"Carney," sneered Williams in open contempt. "Huh! Here, gimme that
pencil an' that old envelope!" He worked laboriously, revised the
figures several times and then looked up. "I reckon two hundred a month
ought to be enough. Scrub Oak pays that--Willow does likewise. You got
your outfit. We furnish th' office, ammernition, an' pay extra
expenses. That's th' best Windsor can do. Yore office will be next door
to this store."
Tex looked questioningly at Henry, who nodded decisively, and carefully
put the hat back on his head. "All right," he said. "When do I start
in?"
"Right now," answered Williams, fumbling under the counter. "We ain't
got no marshal's badge, but I got a sheriff's star somewhere around. He
was killed up on Buffaler Crick last spring. Yep--here it is: this'll
do for awhile. Lean over here, Marshal," he chuckled. "There: It ain't
every marshal that's a sheriff, too." Smiling at Henry he said,
jokingly, "Now let her rain!"
Tex nodded. "Let it come," he said. "Everybody that deserves it will
have a slicker ag'in' th' rain. As marshal I'm playin' no
favorites--there's no strings to a city marshal. My job's to keep th'
peace of Windsor, an' let th' devil whistle." He smiled enigmatically,
hitched up his belt, and then looked at Henry. "You know where Bud's
belt an' gun are?"