Tug Leeds was as sore as a wounded grizzly. He got up from his desk
and glared at the three men who had come to report of the affair at
Poplar Springs. One of the men had his left arm in a dirty sling and
was white-faced from suffering.
“Kid Brent was killed first,” said one of the men. “We didn’t look for
any fight, Tug. Somebody yelped ‘Look out!’ and one of them campers went
for a gun. I seen Mears fall off his horse, and then me and Monte smoked
up the wagon where the shot comes from. About that time the storm hits
us.”
“---- of a fine job!” growled Tug Leeds. “Lose two of my best men, lose
their horses and all we gets is eight half-worn-out workhorses.”
“We done the best we could,” stated the wounded outlaw. “It was blowin’
and as dark as pitch, and yuh couldn’t hear yourself yell. I reckon we
was lucky to get as many horses as we did.”
“Billings would ’a’ got the whole works,” said Tug. “Mears didn’t have
no brains.”
“What was this stuff about Skeeter Bill?” asked the wounded outlaw.
“All through!” snapped Tug. “I gave him five hours to git out, and I
reckon he went. If he shows up in Sunbeam, shoot him.”
“Sounds all right,” grinned the wounded one painfully. “Shootin’ Skeeter
Bill ain’t no cinch. He’s dangerous, Tug. When he stands sideways there
ain’t nothin’ to shoot at.”
“By ----, I won’t stand for him livin’ here!” snapped Tug venomously.
“Me and you is two different kind of caterpillars,” smiled the wounded
outlaw. “Skeeter Bill ain’t never done nothin’ to me.”
“I’m runnin’ this town!” roared Tug.
“Then run Skeeter Bill,” retorted the wounded man, turning to the door,
“I’m goin’ to git my arm fixed up.”
He shut the door behind him and almost ran into a man who was just
coming in. The man growled and went inside. He went straight to Leeds.
This newcomer was a lanky, pasty-faced type, and his breath came jerkily
as he blurted:
“Tug, I just heard somethin’ yuh might like to hear. Some of the miners
had a meetin’ tonight and they’re goin’ to form a vigilance committee to
stop----”
“Hold on!” snapped Tug. “Git your breath, Cullop. Now, talk slow and
don’t git excited.”
“Up at the Keystone,” explained Cullop, “I heard ’em talkin’, Tug. Said
they was goin’ to band together and lynch everybody what they suspected
of robbin’ miners. There was about a dozen of ’em. I heard ’em mention
Skeeter Bill.”
Tug Leeds laughed raspingly.
“That’s good. By ----, I’ll furnish the rope if they want to hang him.
Cullop, you keep your ears and eyes open. Allen, you and Benson go to
bed and keep your mouths shut. These miners will have a fine chance of
findin’ out anything. If Skeeter Bill shows up, let me know right away.
Cullop, yuh better go to Skeeter’s shack in the mornin’ and see if that
---- drunken lawyer went away, too.”
The three men went out. Tug Leeds sat down at his desk and lit a fresh
cigar. As far as the miners were concerned he felt no anxiety, but he
was afraid that the effect of the vigilance committee might discourage
his men. He could ill afford to have anything moral happen to Sunbeam.
He deliberated what he would do to “Sandy” McClain, the wounded outlaw,
for insubordination. Sandy was temperamental, inclined to rebel, and Tug
could not afford to have a discordant note in his organization. Either
Billings or Mears could have disposed of Sandy, but both of them were
gone. Tug left the dirty work to his assistants, not being a gunman
himself. Tug could shoot, but not face to face with a man. He was an
organizer--not an operative. He had at least a dozen men left, but not
one of them could he trust as he trusted Billings and Mears.
“---- Skeeter Bill!” grunted Tug aloud.
He spat out his frayed cigar and prepared for bed. It had been a most
unprofitable day for Tug Leeds, and Tug hated any day that did not show
a balance on the right side of his ledger.
V
Skeeter Bill slept little that night. One of the outlaw’s saddlehorses
drifted into the camp and Skeeter Bill caught it. The horse had belonged
to Mears. Somehow, Skeeter Bill was indignant at Leeds for sending his
men on this mission. He felt that Mears and Brent had received their
just deserts for robbing the wagon-train, and for some reason he did not
feel this way because of anything antagonistic to Leeds.
Skeeter Bill found himself alined with law and order, but quickly
recovered. Didn’t he come down there to rob? Did the presence of this
girl and the old preacher make him glad he was too late to beat Leeds’
gang? No, that was not it. The girl did not interest him at all and he
had no sympathy for the minister.
He knew that Leeds and his gang would put him out of the way as speedily
as possible when he showed up in Sunbeam. There were plenty ways of
doing this--ways that would exonerate any one concerned. Skeeter was no
supershot. It would be a dozen against one. He knew that the wisest
course would be to start traveling away from Sunbeam, but Skeeter Bill
had little wisdom in these things.
No, he would go back in spite of Leeds. The idea of backing the preacher
amused Skeeter. He knew that Leeds and several other men would balk at a
sermon in Sunbeam.
“Anyway,” decided Skeeter, “I’ve got to go back after the judge, and
this sky-pilot gives me a excuse. I’ve got to present Leeds with his
daughter. Skeeter Bill, it’s goin’ to be a busy day for you.”
Skeeter Bill prepared breakfast. Mary Leeds was cheerful, but Skeeter
was able to see that she had slept little. The old minister walked
with a decided limp and his left arm was very painful, but he talked
cheerfully.
“Tell me something of this town of Sunbeam,” said the minister as he
watched Skeeter deftly removing slices of bacon from the spattering
grease.
Skeeter looked over his shoulder at the old man.
“---- was built a long time ago, but somebody got hold of a map of it
and built Sunbeam after the same idea.”
“I--I--uh--surely you exaggerate,” stammered the old minister. “Perhaps
you are prejudiced.”
Skeeter fished out more bacon before he replied.
“Yuh got me fightin’ my own head, parson. Two of them words I don’t
_sabe_ a-tall. You and the judge would make a good pair to draw to. He
swallowed a dictionary. Put on your nose-bags, folks. That coffee
looks like stewed gunnysacks, don’t it? If I was cookin’ for saw-mills
I wouldn’t get a splinter. The judge does the cookin’ at our shack,
when he’s sober enough, which ain’t three meals a day reg’lar. Parson,
I wish you’d temperance him for a while. The ---- old fool is goin’ to
kill himself. First time he seen a pink elephant, and the second time
it was a green buffalo, and now I’m bettin’ he’s about due to see a
pinto geewhinkus. Any time he sees a pinto gee-whinkus he’s due to
hammer a harp, yuh know it?”
The minister and Mary Leeds, neither of whom knew what Skeeter Bill
meant, both nodded their heads and sat down to eat. Skeeter grinned,
but the grin faded and he rubbed a hand across his chin. He turned to
the minister and the girl.
“Folks, I want yuh to understand that Sunbeam ain’t no civilized
place. You’re goin’ into a camp-town, where everythin’ goes except
the cook-stove and three joints of pipe. Far as I can see you’re both
buckin’ a brace game, and I just been figurin’ out a combination that
might help yuh both.
“Suppose, parson, that you kinda adopts the lady. Let everybody think
she’s your daughter. It ain’t goin’ to hurt neither one of you, is it?
Kinda gives her protection, parson.”
The old minister nodded slowly over his coffee and turned to the girl.
“My dear, I think our friend is right. I am more than ready to offer my
protection, if you will accept.”
“But why should we stoop to deception?” asked Mary. “Surely there is no
harm in my going to Sunbeam to seek my father.”
“Sunbeam,” said Skeeter, “won’t care a ---- what you came there for.
You’d be a maverick, miss. No, yuh better go in there as a preacher’s
daughter.”
“Well,” said Mary wearily, “it does not make the slightest difference to
me. I fail to see why I should do this, except to humor you, Mr. Bill.”
Skeeter Bill nodded seriously, but his face broke into a wide smile as
he looked at her.
“Name’s Sarg, ma’am. Everybody calls me Skeeter Bill for short. I dunno
whether you made any more mistakes in your discourse or not, ’cause I
don’t _sabe_ anythin’ except English and cuss-words, but I appears to
decipher that you’ll be the preacher’s daughter.”
Mary Leeds nodded and smiled. It was almost impossible to look at
Skeeter’s homely face without smiling. The old man was slowly sipping at
his coffee, looking absently off across the desert, but now he turned to
Skeeter.
“My son, what line of endeavor do you pursue?”
Skeeter looked up quickly and stared at the old man.
“Just grazed me, parson,” he said softly. “Hit me dead center with plain
United States, will yuh?”
“I do not understand you.”
Skeeter reached out a hand to the minister.
“Shake,” he grinned. “_Sabe_ sign-talk?”
“Sign-talk? No, I--I----”
“We’re kinda ace-deuce, I reckon, parson. Your talk goes antegodlin’
to me and I reckon my _wau-wau_ fogs your brain complete-like. Just
what did you ask me?”
“He wants to know what you do for a living,” explained Mary Leeds,
smiling at Skeeter’s serious expression.
“Me?” Skeeter debated for a moment. “I’m a horse-thief.”
“A horse-thief?” echoed Mary, while both of them stared blankly at
Skeeter.
“When there’s horses,” nodded Skeeter. “Feller can’t be too particular,
yuh know. Might get into a goat country and starve to death.”
“I can not believe that statement,” declared Mary.
“Yuh can’t?” Skeeter’s smile faded. “That’s the worst of it,” he wailed.
“If I lied you’d believe me, but when I tell the truth I’m called a
liar.”
“Surely you are not sincere,” said the minister. “No man will willingly
admit a thing that would incriminate himself. It is ridiculous for you
to assert to us that you follow such a sordid profession.”
Skeeter got slowly to his feet and brushed some crumbs off his wrinkled
shirt.
“I reckon you two can ride my bronc to Sunbeam. He’s broke to pack
double, but I dunno a ---- thing about this hammer-headed ring-tail
what belonged to Mears; so I’ll fork him myself.”
“I do not attempt to follow your discourse,” stated the minister, “but
I wish you would eliminate the profanity, especially in the presence of
the lady.”
“My ----!” gasped Skeeter Bill, and turned to Mary. “Ma’am, I spent six
weeks in a Cree Indian lodge. Had a busted leg, and the sheriff was
ridin’ sign on me. It was natcheral that I hankered for information, but
the old war-whoop didn’t _sabe_ English and I didn’t _sabe_ Cree; so we
argued to beat ---- for six weeks and parted friends, ’cause neither one
of us knowed what the other one meant. I’m kinda between, I reckon. A
wise man uses words which I don’t _sabe_, and a ---- fool talks stuff
that there ain’t no sense to.”
“Please do not swear so much,” begged the minister.
“Swear--so--much?” Skeeter Bill was amazed. “Why, parson, I ain’t swore
once.”
“I do not wish to appear critical,” stated the minister, “but your
adjectives are a--uh--trifle--uh----”
Skeeter Bill scratched his chin and studied the old minister, who was
trying to grasp the proper word to convey the exact meaning. Mary Leeds
turned away to hide a smile. Skeeter broke the silence.
“We’ll let her go as she lays, parson. There’s peace between us now,
but I’ll send you a red belt as sure as ----, if yuh don’t quit talkin’
thataway. Let’s hit the trail. I want to get home before the judge gets
so drunk I can’t rope him to a saddle.”