THE DISCOMFITURE OF SMALLBONES
Never in all his recollection had Silas Rocket had such a profitable
night. From sundown on, his saloon was packed almost to suffocation,
and he scarcely had time to wipe a single glass between drinks, so
rapidly were the orders shouted across his bar. All the male portion
of Barnriff were present, with the addition of nearly thirty men from
the outlying ranges. It was a sort of mass meeting summoned by Doc
Crombie, who had finally, but reluctantly, been driven to yield to the
public cry against Jim Thorpe.
The doctor understood his people, and knew just how far his authority
would carry him. He had exerted that authority to the breaking point
to protect a man, whom, in his heart, he believed to be innocent of
the charges laid at his door. But now the popular voice was too strong
for him, and he yielded with an ill-grace.
Smallbones was the man responsible for this rebellion against a
long-recognized authority. He was at the bottom of the campaign
against Jim Thorpe. Whether he was himself convinced of the man's
guilt it would have been difficult to say. For some reason, which was
scarcely apparent, he meant to hang him. And, with all the persistence
of a venomous nature, he shouted his denunciation, until at last his
arguments gained credence, and his charges found echo in the deep
throats of men who originally had little or nothing to say in the
matter.
The meeting was in full swing, tempers were roused in proportion to
the arguments flung about at haphazard, and the quantities of liquor
consumed in the process of the debate. At first the centre of the
floor had been kept clear for the speakers, and the audience was lined
up around the walls, but as the discussion warmed there was less
order, and Doc Crombie, in spite of his sternest language, was
powerless to keep the judicial atmosphere necessary to treat the
matter in a dignified manner. Smallbones kept up a fiery run of
comment and spleenful argument on every individual who backed the
doctor in his demand for moderation. He ridiculed, he cursed, he
showered personal abuse, until he had everybody by the ears, and by
the sheer power of his venom herded the majority to side with him.
One of the men he could not influence was Peter Blunt. He did his
utmost to provoke the big man to a personal attack upon himself that
he might turn loose personalities against him, and charge him with
complicity in some of Jim's doings, however absurdly untrue they might
be. He had all a demagogue's gift for carrying an audience with him.
He never failed to seize upon an opportunity to launch a poisonous
shaft, or sneer at the class to which Jim and such men as Peter
belonged. Before he left that saloon he meant to obtain a verdict
against his man.
Doc Crombie's anger was hot against the hardware dealer. He meant
ruling against him in the end, but he was not quite sure how that
ruling would be generally received. He was now listening to a final
appeal from Peter in the hopes of gleaning something that might help
him when he finally set his foot on the neck of Smallbones' charges.
"See here, fellers," Peter said, with a quiet directness of manner,
but in a voice that rose above the hum of general talk, and at once
silenced it, "you've heard a whole heap of 'tosh' from Smallbones and
his gang. I tell you that feller's got a mind as big as a pea, and
with just about as much wind in it. You've heard him accuse Jim Thorpe
of cattle stealing on evidence which we all know, and which wouldn't
convince a kid of ten, by reason of its absurd simplicity. Do I need
to ask sensible men such as you if any sane rustler is going to do the
things which you're trying to say Jim Thorpe did? Is any sane rustler
going to use his own brand, and run stolen cattle with his legitimate
stock, in a place where folks can always see 'em? Sure, sure you don't
need to ask yourselves even. Jim Thorpe's been a straight man all his
days in Barnriff. 'Honest Jim Thorpe' you've all many a time called
him. I tell you this thing is a put-up job. Some dirty, mean skunk has
set out to ruin him for some reason unknown. There are mean folks," he
went on, with his keen eyes fixed on Smallbones, "here in Barnriff.
They're mean enough to do this if they only hated Jim enough. I'd hate
to cast reflections, but I believe from the bottom of my heart that
Smallbones, if he hated enough, would do such a trick. I----"
"Are you accusin' me, you durned hulk?" shrieked the hardware dealer
fiercely.
"I wasn't," remarked Peter, calmly. "But if you like, I will. I'm not
a heap particular. And there'd be just about as much sense in doing
so as there is in your accusations against Jim."
"Hark at him, fellers," cried the furious Smallbones, pointing at the
big man. "He's his friend--he'd sell his stinkin' soul for him.
He'd----"
"I'd sell my soul for no man," Peter replied, cutting him short. "But
I'd like to keep it as decently clean as such folks as you will let
me. Now listen to me. You've no right to condemn this man in the way
you're trying to. I don't know what your ultimate intentions are about
him. I dare say some of you would like to hang him, but there's too
many sane men who'd stop such as Smallbones at tricks like that. But
you've no right to banish him out of the district, or even censure
him. He's done nothing----"
"What about the Henderson woman?" cried Smallbones.
"Yes, yes," cried several voices, standing near their little leader.
Peter's eyes lit.
"Don't you dare to mention her name in here, Smallbones," he cried,
with a sudden fierceness, "or, small as you are, I'll smash you to a
pulp, and kick you from here to your store. In your wretched gossip,
and in your scandal-loving hearts you must say and think what you
please, but don't do it here, for I won't stand for it."
A murmur applauded him from Doc Crombie's direction, and even
Smallbones was silenced for the moment. Peter went on.
"See here, I'm known to everybody. I'm known in most places where the
grass of the prairie grows, and my name's mostly good. Well, I want to
say right here, on my oath, Jim Thorpe's no cattle-thief, and, as God
is my judge, I know that to be true. Jim Thorpe hasn't an evil thought
in his----"
"Hold on," cried Doc Crombie, excitedly, as the swing doors were
pushed suddenly open. "Here's some one who'll mebbe have a word to say
fer himself. You're jest in time to say a word or two, Jim Thorpe," he
smiled, as the man's pale face appeared in their midst.
"Here he is," cried Smallbones, his wicked eyes sparkling. "Here he
is, fellers. Here is the man I accuse right here of bein' a low-down
cattle-thief. That's your charge, Jim Thorpe. An' don't ferget we hang
cattle----"
"Shut your rotten face, you worm!" cried Jim, contemptuously. He was
standing in the centre of the room. Everybody had made way for him,
and now he confronted a circle of accusing faces. He glanced swiftly
round till his dark eyes rested on the hawk-like visage of the
doctor.
"Say, Will Henderson's dead," he said, in a quiet, solemn voice. "He's
been murdered. He's lying up there on the south side of the eastern
bluff. Guess you'd best send up and--see to him."
His words produced a sudden and deathly silence. Every eye was upon
his pale face in excited, incredulous wonderment. Will Henderson dead?
Their questioning eyes asked plainly for more information, while their
tongues were silent with something like awe. Smallbones reached his
glass from the counter and drank its contents at a gulp, but his eyes
never left Jim's face. His astonishment didn't interfere with the
rapid working of his mean brain. To him Jim looked a sick man. There
was something defiant in the dark eyes. The man, to his swift
imagination, was unduly perturbed. He glanced down at his clothes, and
his eyes fixed themselves greedily upon the fingers of the hand
nearest to him. A flash of triumph shot into his eyes as he heard Doc
Crombie's voice suddenly break the silence.
"How'd it happen? Who did it?" he asked sharply.
Jim's answer came promptly.
"He's up there stabbed to death. Stabbed through the heart. As to who
did it, that's to be found out." He shrugged. His eyes were on the
doctor without shrinking.
But he turned swiftly as Smallbones' harsh tones drew every one's
attention.
"Say, hold up your left hand, Jim Thorpe," he cried gleefully. "Hold
it right up an' tell us what that red is on it. Say, I don't guess
we'll need to puzzle a heap over how Will Henderson come by his
death."
Jim raised his hand. There was nothing else to be done. For a second
he gazed at it ruefully. But it was only the sight of the murdered
man's blood on it that disturbed him, and not any thought of the
consequences of its discovery.
"It's Will Henderson's blood," he said frankly. "It was necessary for
me to touch him."
The frankness of his admission was not without its effect upon those
who did not belong to Smallbones' extremist party, but to them it
passed as a mere subterfuge. They promptly gave voice to an ominous
murmur which momentarily threatened to break out into violence. But
Smallbones saw fresh possibilities. He suddenly changed his frenzied
tactics, and entirely moderated his tone.
"You've come straight in?" he inquired.
"Yep." Jim's face wore something approaching a smile. He knew exactly
what to expect before the night was out, and Smallbones' questions had
no terrors for him. He had nothing to gain, and nothing to lose,
except that which he had already made up his mind to lose--if
necessary.
"What wer' you doin' out by that bluff?" Smallbones demanded.
"That's my business."
The little man snarled furiously. All eyes were set curiously upon
Jim's face, but there were several smiles at the manner of the snub.
Peter Blunt standing beside Angel Gay was hopelessly wondering at the
sudden turn of events.
But now Doc Crombie once more took the lead.
"We'll send up six boys and bring him in. I'll go myself." He turned
and gave his orders. Then his luminous eyes settled themselves
steadily upon Jim's face. "We want the rights o' this, sure. Do you
know anything more?"
But Jim was tired of the questioning. He shrugged his shoulders.
"I've told all I've got to tell you. For Heaven's sake, go and fetch
in the man's body. It'll maybe tell you more than it told me."
He turned to the bar and called for a drink, which he devoured
thirstily.
But Doc Crombie was not to be dealt with in so cavalier a fashion.
"You'll come along up an' show us just wher' Henderson is," he said
sharply. "It'll make it easier findin'." He stepped up to him, and
tapped him on the shoulder. "Do you get me? Ther's been murder done,
an'----"
"I'll stay right here," said Jim, flashing round on him. "I've seen
all I want to see up there. You'll have no difficulty locating him.
He's on the south side."
"You'll come----" Doc began.
But Smallbones, still smarting under his snub, could no longer keep
silent.
"Take him prisoner," he demanded. "Get him now. Are you goin' to let
him get away? Once he's on his horse he'll---- Say, he's got blood on
his hands, and he's the on'y man with reason to wish Will Henderson
dead. Gee, get his guns away an' strap him fast."
But the doctor ignored the interruption.
"You're coming out there, Jim Thorpe," he said deliberately, "or
you'll hand over your guns, and----"
"Consider myself under your arrest, eh?" Jim promptly removed both of
his guns from their holsters, and handed them, butt first, to the
doctor. "Guess I'll stay right here," he said easily. "And I'm glad to
hand you those; it'll save me using them on Smallbones."
The furious hardware dealer now bristled up, and his mean face was
thrust up so that he stared into Jim's with all the cruelty of his
hatred laid bare in his eyes.
"Yes, you ken stay right here an' we'll look after you, me an' a few
o' the boys. You're a prisoner, Jim Thorpe, and if you attempt to
escape, we'll blow you to bits. We'll look after you, sure. You shan't
escape, don't you mistake. It 'ud do me good to hand you a little lead
pizenin'."
"I've no doubt," was all the answer Jim vouchsafed.
But before Smallbones could retort, Peter Blunt, followed by Jake
Wilkes and Angel Gay, approached.
"We'll stay here too, Doc," he said. "Guess Smallbones'll need help.
You see he isn't much of a man to look after a prisoner. Anyway, Jim
Thorpe's a friend of ours."
"Right, Peter, an' you two fellers," cried the relieved doctor. "I ken
hear the buckboard I sent over for comin' along. I'll start right
out." Then he added pointedly, "I guess I'll leave him in your
charge."
The doctor passed out and was followed at once by most of Rocket's
customers, all eager to investigate the murder for their own morbid
satisfaction. And thus only the three friends of Jim Thorpe, with
Smallbones and two others, were left with the prisoner.
The moment the doors had swung to behind the last of the departures,
Peter Blunt suddenly strode across the room to where Smallbones stood,
staring at his intended victim with snapping eyes. So sudden was his
approach that the little man was taken quite unawares. He seized him
by the collar with one hand, and with the other deprived him of the
guns with which he was still armed, as a result of his service on the
vigilance committee, and, though he struggled and cursed violently, he
carried him bodily to the door and deliberately flung him outside.
"If you attempt to get in here again till Doc returns I'll throw you
out just the same again, if I have to do it twenty times," Peter
declared. Then he turned back to the men at the bar.
"I feel mean havin' to do it," he said, almost shamefacedly. "Only I
guess things'll be more comfortable all round now."
"Thanks, Peter," said Jim simply, holding out his hand.
Peter took it and wrung it.
"You see he wants to--hang you, Jim," he said by way of explanation.
"And he'll do it."
Jim's words came so solemnly that the men beside him were startled.
"But--but you didn't--kill him?" Peter stammered.
Jim shook his head.
"No," he said decidedly. "But--he'll hang me--sure."
"Will he?" cried Peter emphatically. "We'll see."
And the startled look in his eyes was again replaced by the shrewd,
kindly expression Jim knew so well.