March had come in a-roaring. Almanac-wise it was passing out
a-bleating. Except in the high places the snow was going fast. The
frost was coming out of the ground, making it necessary for the
Hillsville stage to employ eight horses instead of six. The gray geese
were flying northward. Here and there on the southern flanks of the
lean hills the grass showed bravely green. That uncomfortable person,
Dan Slike, was well enough to stand his trial. Spring was in the air,
but winter still held sway in the heart of Billy Wingo. He had not
been able to make up his difference with Hazel Walton, or rather she
had not made up her difference with him. Manlike, or mulelike,
whichever you prefer, Billy Wingo was stubbornly determined that the
girl should make the first move. True, he had seen her. It was also
true that he had gone out of his way to see her. Always his reception
had been friendly, but not the least cordial. Obviously she had not
forgiven him his outburst.
Whenever he thought on what he was pleased to consider his
ill-treatment at her hands, he was prone to rail at the foolishness of
women. He did not stop to reflect that there was another side to the
shield. Certainly not. The woman was clearly and wholly in the wrong.
Adam, I believe, was the first man to express this opinion. His sons
have been following in his footsteps ever since.
Came a night of heavy rain and wind. Billy Wingo, a lamp on the table
at his elbow, was reading a Denver newspaper. A sudden gust drove a
spatter of rain across the windows. There was a soft thump followed by
a sliding sound against the outside door. Some one uttered in a
woman's voice a muffled wail.
Billy went at once to the door and lifted the latch. The wind pushed
it back against him and flung a spray of wet into his face. There was
something lying on the doorstep and sill, something that moved a
little. Billy let the door fly open. The something was apparently a
woman in distress. Billy bent down, endeavoring to slip his hands
under her shoulders. But the woman was heavy and her clothing was very
wet and slippery. Billy bent a little lower and--Smash!
"He's coming out of it," a voice was saying. "I saw his eyelids
flicker."
"You hit him a mite too hard," declared another voice. "Y'oughta used
a club instead of that wagon wrench."
"I didn't know how hard his head was," offered a third voice, "and we
can't afford to take chances. You know that. Anybody, he's coming
along all right, so what's the odds?"
"He's ruined that pillow," complained the first voice. "And I know
he's bled on through the sheets into the mattress. Spoil the mattress,
that will. Cake the feathers all up. Make 'em nubbly."
"Don't be so dainty, Sam," laughed the second voice. "You're so
all-fired fat what's a rough mattress to you? Sleep on the floor, and
you wouldn't know the difference."
Billy kept his eyes shut, although he was now completely conscious.
His head ached like forty. Seemed as if the whole top had come off and
dozens of little devils were inside hammering like mad. He believed he
knew the owners of those three voices. Sam Larder, Felix Craft and Tip
O'Gorman. He opened his eyes. Yes, he was right. There they were,
the three of them. But it was daylight, and a day of sunshine too.
And the last thing he remembered was a night of wind and rain.
Tip gave back his look with a smile. Sam Larder and Felix Craft did
not smile. Their faces were serious.
"Glad to see you're coming round," said Tip O'Gorman. "Here, let me
fix that bandage. Looks as if it might be slipping. How you
feel--pretty good?"
"Pretty good--considering," replied Bill.
"That's fine, fine. Want a li'l something to eat?"
"Rather have a drink."
The cool water revived him like wine. He lay back on the pillows
greatly refreshed. He thought his head ached a little less, perhaps.
"Where am I and how did I get here?"
"You're in my house," said Sam Larder. "You were--uh--brought here."
"After the roof feel on me?" said Billy, fingering the bandage round
his head.
"Well, you see," said Tip, in some embarrassment, "we knew you wouldn't
have accepted our invitation unless you were knocked silly first. But
I--I planned the whole thing, Bill--I didn't intend to keep you
senseless as long as this. It's a matter of ten hours since you were
hit. I didn't know but what maybe we were due to lose you, after all."
"That would have been a pity," said Billy.
"Wouldn't it? Yeah. Don't blame me for that crack, though. I told
Crafty not to use anything made of iron. But I'm afraid he used his
own judgment."
"I always do," said Felix Craft.
"Who was the woman?" inquired Billy.
"I was the woman," replied Craft demurely.
"That was one on me. But I'm still wonderin'. You fellers went to a
lot of trouble to carry me clear out here. I suppose it's too much to
hope you were seen doing it."
"I don't guess we were seen," said Tip. "We kind of took care not to
be.
"How long do you count on boardin' me, Sam?"
"Just a li'l while," was the reply.
"No longer than is necessary," slipped in Tip, with emphasis on the
last word.
"Necessary, huh. _Necessary_. I suppose you fellers think you'll be
able to get Dan Slike off by kidnappin' me. You forget there's Riley
Tyler."
"We know there's Riley Tyler," said Tip, "like we know Riley and
Shotgun went to Hillsville yesterday and won't be back for three-four
days. And about Dan Slike we don't care three whoops in hell. To tell
you the truth, Bill, I'm surprised you don't know us better than that.
_We_ three didn't have any hand in that Walton business."
"I didn't really think you did," said Billy frankly, "but knowing how
you and Tuckleton----"
"No, no, Bill," interrupted Tip hastily, "don't go fussin' about Rafe.
That's a cat with another tail entirely. Your business right now this
minute is with us. Our business is with you. Here we are. Here's
you."
But Billy was apparently paying no further attention to Tip's words.
He was looking at the ceiling. He was smiling. He chuckled.
"Do you know," he said, glancing sidewise at Tip, "when I was a kid, I
often wondered how it would feel to be kidnapped. I had a idea it
would be romantic sort of. But it ain't, not a mite. I feel like I'd
been on a tear--head, y'understand, and mouth all furry and _thirsty_!
Where's that pitcher? Oh, I can sit up all right."
He swung up to a sitting position with a lurch. "Here's how," he said,
reaching for the pitcher.
He drank his fill and again lay down, supporting his head on a bent
elbow.
"Crafty," he said severely, "why for are you monkeying with that gun?"
"I thought I had it hidden behind the table," replied Craft,
shamefacedly depositing a six-shooter on the table in front of him.
He folded his arms behind the gun, but Billy noticed that the fingers
of his right hand were touching the wood of the butt.
"The truth is," said Tip, "that we intend to watch you pretty closely.
But you haven't any kick coming. You ain't gagged or hogtied even."
"Seeing that Sam's house is a mile out of town and a good eight hundred
yards west of the Hillsville trail, gaggin' me and tying me up are
hardly necessary. Sam, that water sure gave me a appetite. I feel
considerable better. Suppose now you send along the chambermaid with
several eggs, more or less, let 'em lay, and two-three-four slices of
nice ham, and some fried potatoes, and bread and butter, and a li'l jam
if you have it--if not, I'll take what you've got handy and some
coffee, black, with sugar. Better have her bring a full pot of coffee.
And Samuel, my own dear boyhood friend, will you send along the
golden-haired chambermaid?"
"That's the way," approved Tip, smiling, as Sam Larder slumped
kitchenward. "Make a joke of it. No sense in taking it to heart."
"Tip," said Bill, "I always knew you were an old scoundrel."
Tip looked hurt. "The scoundrel perhaps, and only _perhaps_, mind you,
but I deny the age. I'm only a short fifty."
"Plenty of time for you to be hung yet," admitted Bill. "Felix, old
settler, that gun of yours is pointing right at me. Is it easy on the
trigger?"
"Mighty easy," said Felix Craft, altering slightly the angle of the
weapon's barrel.
Billy hitched himself up to a sitting position. By means of the bed's
two pillows he made himself comfortable against the wall.
"You spoke of some business," he said. "Le's hear it."
Tip cleared his throat. "It ain't much. All we want is for you to
leave us alone."
"Seems to me you asked me something like that before," mused Billy.
"And your answer was unsatisfactory."
"What kind of an answer did you expect?"
"We expected you'd be a sensible man, the sort of feller who wouldn't
throw down his friends."
"You said that before, too."
Tip nodded. "We still think maybe you can be brought to see our side
of it."
"We don't want to do anything we'd all be sorry for," Felix Craft
nipped in significantly.
"Hear the clanking chains," said Billy. "The man's threatening me, I
do believe."
Craft returned his stare woodenly.
"You see," Tip remarked, "we expect to do a li'l business this year."
"Do you think this will be a good year for business?" Billy cocked a
questioning eyebrow.
"We hope so, we hope so," pronounced Tip. "I'll be open with you,
Bill. If you keep on nosing into our affairs the way you've started
in, we'll lose money. Couldn't help but lose it. You didn't take
office till the first of January and business won't be done in any
volume till well into the year----"
"When the ground is hard," interrupted Billy, "and the volume of
business won't be apt to leave telltale tracks. I get the innards of
your meaning."
"Exactly. So you see how absolutely necessary it is for us to be sure
that you won't horn into any of our li'l deals."
"We intend to be sure," declared Craft.
"Tip," said Billy, "that man is threatening me again. You stop him.
He makes me nervous. Sometimes I almost think he means it."
"I'm afraid he does mean it," said Tip. "I--we don't want to do you
any harm, Bill, physically or otherwise. You understand, that, don't
you?"
"Seein' that you keep on tellin' me so over and over, I'll try and
believe it. But what I want to know is if you decide finally to do me
harm, physically or otherwise, what kind of harm you'll do. Will you
drop me over the cliff on a dark and moonlight night and dash my
quiverin' body to death on the cruel rocks below, or will you slip a
li'l wolf poison into my morning coffee, or will you just cut my throat
or what? I'd like to know. Honest, I would. My curiosity is standin'
on its hind legs."
"It's no joke," Tip told him seriously.
"Of course it ain't. Who said it was. Not me. I'm serious as lead in
your lung. Likewise I'm scared to death. If I was standin' up you'd
hear my knees clacking together. Not to disappoint you I'll shake the
bed. There! How's that?"
He grinned at them disarmingly. They did not return the grin.
"Might as well tell him now," suggested Craft.
Tip nodded. "I was going to. Bill, you left your office in Golden Bar
last night." He paused, looking up at the ceiling.
"You needn't try to make me think you're making it up as you go along,"
Billy fleered with a wink. "I know better. Flap along, flap along."
"You took your rifle with you and both your guns," resumed Tip. "You
went to the stable and saddled your red-and-white pinto and rode out of
town."
"Right down Main Street, I suppose, where everybody could see me?"
"Nothing so coarse as that. You were careful to strike the shelter of
the cottonwoods that grow so close to the rear of your corral."
Bill's eyes widened with well-feigned enjoyment. He was reasonably
sure he knew what was coming. "I'll bet somebody saw me, alla same."
"Several people saw you, saw you so plainly that they could swear to
your identity on the witness stand."