Skeeter’s blows had both injured and humiliated Tug Leeds. His lower
jaw pained him greatly, but the greater pain was within his soul, for
Tug Leeds had never been knocked out before. He knew that his power in
Sunbeam had dwindled, because no man respects or cares to take orders
from the vanquished.
Nothing was said about the fight to him. He was allowed to recover in
his own way, get to his feet by his own volition. Tug was in a killing
mood when he went back to his own room and proceeded to imbibe
quantities of liquor and rub liniment on his wrenched jaw muscles.
“Twin” Shevlin, who had charge of the Panhandle gambling business,
thoroughly enjoyed it. Tug had beaten Twin thoroughly a week before,
and Twin’s crooked mind had worked overtime in wishing disaster to
come upon Tug Leeds.
Twin was a frail anemic flash gambler type. His linen was always
spotless, his nails manicured and his tiny mustache always trimmed
to a nicety. Twin was a crooked gambler. Otherwise he would not have
been in Tug Leeds’ employ.
It was Twin who first saw Mary Leeds as she came quietly into the
gambling-hall, looking timidly around, and he lost no time in
approaching her. He listened while she asked permission to post a
notice in the place. He read one of the hand-printed notices and
looked thoughtfully at her.
“I’ll see the boss, if you want me to,” said Twin and went back to the
room, where Tug was lying on his bed.
Tug cursed vitriolically at the request, but sat up when Twin described
the girl. Girls were scarce in Sunbeam. The habitués of the Panhandle
were greatly interested in Mary Leeds. The coarse dance-hall girls
examined her raiment at close range and were not a bit delicate in their
comments, but scattered like partridges at the approach of Tug Leeds.
Tug read the notices, a cold glint in his eyes, and was about to give
the girl to understand that religion was not wanted in Sunbeam, when
she mentioned the fact that Mr. Sarg was going to help them. Tug grew
interested.
“What did yuh say Sarg was goin’ to do?” he asked.
Mary told him about the trouble at the Poplar Springs, and of how
Skeeter Bill had assisted them. The Panhandle crowd listened closely
while she innocently told of how Skeeter Bill was going to help them
bring the gospel to Sunbeam. Tug nursed his sore jaw and worked his
mind overtime.
The Reverend Josiah Weston came to the Panhandle, looking for Mary
Leeds, just in time to be taken into consideration by Tug Leeds.
“Your daughter’s been tellin’ me about how yuh got taken in by Skeeter
Sarg,” stated Tug. “He’s a slick _hombre_, that feller. Murdered Jeff
Billings yesterday, and we runs him out of town. Likely mixed up in
that killin’ at the Springs and came back to see if there was anythin’
he overlooked.”
The Reverend Dr. Weston was shocked. Mary Leeds started to voice her
unbelief, but the buzz of corroborative conversation, regarding the
killing of Jeff Billings, convinced her that her estimate of Skeeter
Bill was all wrong. It was hard to believe that Skeeter Bill was a
murderer, but facts are facts. Skeeter had told them that he was a
horse-thief.
“But,” objected the Reverend Weston, “why should he be so anxious to
assist us?”
Tug grinned and caressed his sore jaw. His eyes turned to Mary Leeds and
back to the minister.
“Pretty girls are scarce in this country,” he said enigmatically.
Mary Leeds flushed and a suppressed giggle came from the group of
dance-hall girls.
“Do you mean to say that Mr. Sarg had ulterior motives?” asked the
minister.
“I reckon yuh might call it that, if yuh wanted to be polite,” agreed
Tug. “He sure had a motive.”
Tug grinned and glanced around the room. There was no one in the place
except his own crowd. Leaning against the bar, one arm in a sling, stood
Sandy McClain, indifferently watching and listening. Tug’s eyes narrowed
at the sight of McClain and their glances met.
McClain was thin-faced, thin-lipped, with eyes as expressionless as blue
agate. McClain was a capable man--too capable. He was like a wolf which
runs with the pack, but is not one of them; a strong fighter, which
seems to bide its time to step in and wrest the leadership from the old
pack master. Tug Leeds feared McClain.
Tug’s eyes shifted from McClain and he spoke directly to the minister.
“Your horse-thief friend promised yuh a lot, I reckon, but I’ll show yuh
that Sunbeam appreciates your comin’. Tonight at nine o’clock I’ll let
yuh preach right in here--here in the Panhandle.”
For a moment there was silence--then McClain laughed. It was not a
hearty laugh, but a toneless flutter of the vocal cords. The crowd
flashed a look at McClain, but his face had not changed expression.
In fact he was not seemingly interested in the conversation. Tug’s
heavy body stiffened, but he made no move. That laugh annoyed him.
“You--you mean that we can hold services in here?” faltered the
minister.
“Y’betcha,” nodded Tug, his eyes still on McClain.
“I think it is very kind of you,” said Mary Leeds sweetly.
Again McClain’s lips parted in that toneless chuckle. His eyes lifted
and he looked blankly at Tug for a moment and then moved sidewise to
the door and went out.
The going of Sandy McClain seemed to leave a chill over the place.
Gamblers looked at each other meaningly. One of the dance-hall girls
drew a hand across her lips, leaving a crimson smudge across her
cheek. They all had a feeling that something was going to happen very
soon. McClain was a killer--a rattlesnake which might strike without
any warning. There was also Skeeter Bill to reckon with. They looked
askance at Mary Leeds, as if blaming her for interrupting the peace
of Sunbeam.
“Then it is settled,” said the minister, breaking the quiet, “I shall
hold services here this evening, and I want to thank you for your
kindness to me and my--er--daughter. Good-day, sir.”
Mary Leeds turned and followed the old minister outside, while the
crowd watched them in silence. Then Tug Leeds laughed loudly. Some of
them, appreciating the wit and humor of their king, also laughed, but
there was little mirth and no joy in the laughter.