The silver dollar worked wonders with Judge Tareyton. After the second
drink he began to realize the seriousness of his position. Leeds’
warning, as told by Skeeter, came back to him. Nervously he ran the
back of his hand across his lips and turned his head slowly, feeling
that some one was watching him.
Behind him, leaning against the edge of a table, stood Tug Leeds. They
faced each other. The liquor had made the judge strangely cool, and his
form straightened in dignity as he gazed upon the man who had ordered
him out of the town. Then Tug Leeds spoke.
“Still in town, eh?”
“I beg your pa’don,” drawled the judge slowly, brushing an imaginary
speck from the lapel of his frayed coat. “You spoke to me, sir?”
Tug Leeds walked slowly up to the judge, his heavy under-jaw shoved out,
as if trying to intimidate the other with his physical appearance. He
halted with his face within a foot of the judge’s face and stared into
his eyes.
“You know ---- well I spoke to you!” snarled Tug. “I told Sarg I’d give
yuh both five hours to git out of this country. I reckon he had brains
enough to take my warnin’.”
“You gave us five hours?” queried the judge. “By gad, that was generous
of you, sir--mighty generous. Not to be outdone in generosity, Skeeter
Bill gave us five hours, and the least I could do would be to
reciprocate, which gave us a grand total of fifteen hours. I am sure
that Skeeter Bill will join me in thanking you kindly, sir.”
For a moment Tug Leeds studied this reply. Tug was slow of
understanding, but it suddenly dawned upon him that the judge was
making a fool of him and belittling his warning.
Like a flash, Tug drew back his right hand and drove his fist into the
judge’s face. The blow sent the judge staggering back, blinded by the
impact. Leeds sprang into him, striking with both hands. The judge went
to his knees, with both hands covering his face.
Came the scrape of a boot across the threshold and a lithe, lanky figure
flashed past the crouched figure of the old judge and faced Tug Leeds.
Skeeter Bill’s face was white with wrath. His eyes were mere, indistinct
slits under his eyebrows, and the big humorous mouth was as narrow and
harsh as a pencil-mark.
Tug Leeds’ hand dropped to his gun and he tried to move back, but
Skeeter struck--struck as the panther strikes, and the blow, curving
downward, struck Leeds on the chin. The force of the blow seemed to
unhook Leeds’ under-jaw and paralyze his nerves.
Swiftly Skeeter moved ahead half a step. A long, left arm uncoiled,
with the weight of that long, muscular body behind it and the fist
caught Leeds under that sagging chin. Came the snap of teeth, a short
animal-like grunt, and Tug Leeds slumped in a heap--knocked cold.
Quickly Skeeter Bill caught his balance and faced the room, a heavy
Colt pistol tense at his hip. But the awed crowd made no move. Several
of Leeds’ men were in the audience, but they remained unmoved. The
judge got slowly to his feet, blood trickling from his battered face,
and looked around. Tug Leeds did not move. The judge looked from Tug to
Skeeter, and then stepped over beside Tug, where he appeared to examine
the fallen man.
“Skeeter Bill,” he said painfully, “I’m sorry you hit him so hard.”
“You feelin’ sorry for him?” Skeeter’s voice was barely audible.
The judge nodded.
“Skeeter, I am sorry for any man who was born without any conception of
humor. This man would be a good citizen if he knew when to laugh.”
Skeeter did not reply. It is doubtful whether he knew what the judge
meant. He had not taken his eyes off the men in front of him. Now he
spoke.
“I just want to say to yuh all; I’m goin’ to stay in
Sunbeam--as--long--as--I--live. Any of yuh can pack that talk to Tug
Leeds when he wakes up. Yuh can tell him that I’m goin’ to kill the
next man what touches my pardner. That goes for Sunbeam; _sabe?_”