IN A DARK ROOM
Bill Royce, hastily and but half dressed, came promptly to the house,
stumbling along at Barbee's heels. Blenham, his silence and
watchfulness unbroken, still chewed at his fist. Barbee brought a
heavy blacksnake in his hand.
"Barbee says you want me, Steve?" said Royce from the threshold. "An'
that Blenham's here?"
"Yes, Bill," Steve answered. And to Barbee, "Close the door behind
you. Lock it. Give me the key. Now fasten the shutters across both
windows."
Barbee obeyed silently. Blenham's eyes followed him, seeming
fascinated by the whip in Barbee's hand.
"Listen a minute, Bill," said Steve when Barbee had done. "I want to
tell you something."
And, as briefly as might be, he told Royce of the ten dollar bills
substituted for the real legacy, of the results of his evening in Red
Creek, of Barbee's trapping Blenham, of the recovery of the ten
thousand dollars, of a horse shot dead on the Red Creek road.
"Then," said Royce at the end of it, his mind catching eagerly one
outstanding fact, "I was right, Steve? An' it was Blenham as gave me
both barrels of Johnny Mills's shot-gun? It was Blenham for sure,
wasn't it, Steve?"
"Yes, Bill. It was Blenham."
"An'--an' Blenham's right across there now? It's him I can hear
breathin', Steve?"
"Yes, Bill."
"An'--an' what for did you sen' for me, Steve? What are you goin' to
do to him?"
Packard beckoned to Barbee. The boy came quickly to his side, giving
him the blacksnake. Steve laid it across Bill Royce's hand.
"I'm going to give him a taste of that, Bill," he said. "And I wanted
you here. You can't see it; but before I am through with him, you can
hear it!"
"Goin' to tie him up an' whip him, Steve? That it?"
"Pack of low-bred mongrel pups!" cried Blenham wrathfully, for the
first time breaking his silence. "Sneakin', low-lived curs an'
cowards!"
"That it, Steve?" persisted Royce. "Goin' to tie him up an' give him a
whippin' with a blacksnake?"
"I am going to whip him--for your sake, Bill," answered Steve sternly.
He threw off his coat, tossing it behind him.
"Get the chairs and table out of the way, Barbee! No, I am not going
to tie him up; that isn't necessary, Bill. I can handle him with my
hands without tying him; I am going to do it. And then I am going to
take the whip and lay it across him until his hide is in strips--or
until he begs to be let go. Ready, Blenham?"
"Mean that?" snarled Blenham, a new look in his eye. "Mean you're
goin' to give me an even break?"
But Bill Royce, fairly trembling with an eagerness strange to him, had
clutched at Steve's arm, had found it, was holding him back, crying out
excitedly:
"You're a good pal, Stevie; you're the best pal as ever was an' I know
it! Didn't I always know you'd be like this? But can't you see,
Stevie, can't you see it ain't enough another man should lick him, even
when that man's my pardner, even when it's Stevie himself doin' it!
Ain't I been waitin' an' waitin' to get my hands on him!"
Blenham, a little comforted by Steve's words, jeered openly now.
"Come on, Blind Billy," he taunted. "An' when I've throwed you into
the junk pile I'll take on your friends! One at the time--you know how
the sayin' goes!"
Steve was shaking Royce's hand from his arm.
"Let me do this for you, Bill," he said firmly. "It's only fair. If
you could see, it would be different."
But Royce clung on desperately, crying out insistently:
"Blind as I am I can lick him! I know I can lick him! Ain't I done it
in my sleep a dozen times, a dozen ways? Ain't I always promised
myself sometime I'd get him in my two hands, I'd feel him wriggle an'
squirm? This is my fight, Steve, an'--Blenham, where are you?"
"Here!" cried Blenham. "An' gettin' tired of waitin'!"
Royce plunged toward him. But Steve Packard caught his old friend
about the body, holding him back a moment.
"Easy, Bill," he said gently. "Easy. I was wrong, you are right.
It's your fight. But take your time. Get your coat off. Barbee,
stand by that window there; if Blenham tries to get out stop him. I'll
stand here. All ready, Bill?"
"Ready!" cried Royce, his voice a roar of eagerness.
"All ready, Blenham?"
"Ain't I said it?" jeered Blenham.
"Then--" and suddenly Steve had snatched up the lamp, blowing down the
chimney and plunging the room into thick darkness--"go to it! The
light is out, Bill! The room is pitch-black. You're as well off as he
is. And now, old pardner. Now!"
It was suddenly very still in the room; the thick, impenetrable
darkness seemed almost a palpable curtain screening what went forward;
the silence was for a little literally breathless.
Then there came the first faint, tell-tale sound, the slow, tortured
creaking of a board as a man put his weight upon it. Through the
darkness, across the room, Bill Royce was going slowly, questing the
man who, surprised by the action of Steve's which had reduced his
advantage over a blind man, held to his corner. And then, stranger
sound still through that tense silence, came Bill Royce's low laugh.
"Good boy, Steve," he said softly. "I'd never thought of that! In the
dark Blenham's as blind as me! How do you like it, Blenham? How'd you
like to have it this way all the time?"
Blenham's only answer lay in his leaping forward, out from his corner,
and striking; Royce's answer to that was another quiet laugh. He had
slipped aside; Blenham had flailed at the thin air; Royce, grown still
again, knew one of the moments of sheer joy which had been his during
these last weary months.
Packard and Barbee, frowning unavailingly toward each little noise,
could only guess at what went forward so few inches from them. A
scraping foot might be either Royce's or Blenham's; a long, deep sigh
or quick breathing now here, now there, might emanate from either man.
The strange thing, thought both Barbee and Packard, was that even ten
seconds could pass without these two men at each other's throats.
But, a supreme moment his at last, Bill Royce found himself grown
miserly in its expenditure; he would dribble the golden seconds through
his fingers, he would draw out the experience, tasting its joy fully.
For the moment his blindness was no greater than Blenham's; for a
little Blenham would grope and wonder and hesitate and grow tense after
the fashion the blind man knew so well. And then at the end, when an
end could no longer be delayed, Bill Royce would mete out the
long-delayed punishment.
But, since the natures of both men were downright, since their hatreds
were outright, since there was little of finesse in either and a great
impatience stirring both, Royce's playing with Blenham was short.
There came a sudden shuffling of feet--and Royce's laugh; a blow
landing heavily--and Royce's laugh; another blow, a grunt, and a panted
curse from Blenham--and Royce's laugh.
And then only a scraping of feet up and down, back and forth along the
bare floor, the thudding of heavy shoulders into an unexpected wall,
the impact of fist against body. In the utter darkness the two men
gripped each other, struck, swayed together, staggered apart, only to
come together again to strike harder, more merciless blows.
Packard and Barbee now held their breaths while the others panted
freely; both Packard and Barbee, stepping quickly now this way and now
that as the battling forms swayed up and down, sought to gauge what was
happening by the sounds which came to their ears.
Muttered imprecations, scuffling feet in a rude dance of rage, another
heavy, thudding blow, a coughing curse. Whose? Blenham's, since after
it came Bill Royce's laugh. Another blow, fresh pounding and scraping
of boots--blow on top of blow, curse on top of curse--a man falling
heavily----
Who was down? Royce of Blenham?
"Bill!" called Packard. "Bill!"
No answer save that of two big bodies rolling together on the floor.
Both were down, Royce and Blenham. Both were fighting, wordless and
infuriated. Who was on top?
No man on top long, no man under the other more than a second. The
rolling bodies struck against Packard's leg and he drew back, giving
them room. The dust puffing up from the floor filled his nostrils.
The room was becoming unendurably close, sickeningly close. The sweat
must be streaming from both men by now. Packard sniffed, fancying the
acrid smell of fresh blood. The big bulks rolled and threshed and
whipped here and there----
"Hell!"
It was a cry of mingled rage and pain; it came bursting explosively
from Blenham's lips. Royce's laugh followed it; Packard shivered.
"Bill!" he cried. "Bill!"
Royce did not answer; perhaps for the very good reason that he did not
hear. There were other matters now engaging his attention solely and
exclusively. The fighting fury, the hate frenzy was riding him and he
in turn was riding his enemy. Cool sanity and hot blood-lust do not
find places side by side in the same brain. A second time came the
horrible cry from Blenham. Packard struck a match hastily and lighted
the lamp.
Packard and Barbee together dragged Royce away, letting Blenham lie
there. Both men were naked to their waists, their shirts and
undershirts in rags and strips hanging grotesquely about their hips;
Royce looked like some hideously painted burlesque of a ballet-dancer
in a comic skirt. Only there was nothing of burlesque or comedy in his
face.
Packard, glancing from him down to the tortured body of Blenham that
breathed jerkily, noisily, turned with a sudden revulsion of feeling
and hurled the heavy blacksnake away from him. He had not fancied the
sharp smell of fresh blood.
"I got him!" said Royce shakily. "With my two hands, I got him!
Didn't I, Stevie?"
"Better than you know, Bill!" muttered Packard. "Better than you know."
The thing had been an accident, at least in so far as Bill Royce's
intent was concerned. Packard knew that; he knew that his old pardner
fought hard, fought mercilessly, but fought fair. But in a larger
sense was it an accident? Or rather a mere retributive punishment
decreed by an eternal justice? There in the pitch dark, for no man to
see the how of it, this is perhaps what had happened:
There had been the old, long-rowelled Mexican spur hanging on the wall;
Royce's shoulder or Blenham's had knocked it down; their feet had
pushed it out to the middle of the floor. They had fallen, together,
heavily; they had rolled. Blenham had gone over on his face, Royce's
hands worrying him. The spur----
But it mattered little how it had come about. The result was the
thing. Blenham would never see with his right eye again.