Skeeter Bill stared at the minister.
“I--I was just goin’ to start in helpin’ yuh,” stammered Skeeter,
foolishly.
“I thank you,” said the old minister kindly. “It was fine of you not
to forget me, but I do not think I will need any assistance. Things
are progressing very nicely.”
“Yuh got started already?”
“Yes, indeed. Miss--er--my daughter----”
“Miss Leeds,” corrected Skeeter, as the minister hesitated at the sight
of Judge Tareyton standing behind Skeeter. “The judge _sabes_ the whole
works.”
“Ah, yes,” nodded the minister; “I see. As I was saying, she has been of
very much service to me today. I was a trifle dubious over the reception
accorded me, don’t you see. I talked with the estimable Mrs. Porter and
she suggested that I--er--preach on the street. I could see the wisdom
of such a course at once.
“Miss Leeds and I discussed this, with the result that I prepared
several announcements for services this evening. Miss Leeds and I
proceeded to post these in prominent places. There was no doubt of
the sensation these created.”
“I reckon not,” drawled Skeeter.
“But that is not all,” said the minister triumphantly. “Miss Leeds
asked the owner of a place called the Panhandle if she might post a
notice therein. The man read it, rather curiously, I think, but
acquiesced. He talked with Miss Leeds and I for some little time,
but at the conclusion of this talk he offered to let us have the use
of his entire establishment for the evening. I told him about your
kindness to us.”
“Keep on talkin’,” said Skeeter seriously. “What did he say about me?”
“I told him that you were going to help me and he seemed to be greatly
amused. You were very good to us, Mr. Sarg, and I came over to assure
you that in spite of anything we appreciate your kindness.”
“In spite of anythin’,” repeated Skeeter. “You’re just as welcome as if
you burned your shirt.”
For a while there was silence. The minister seemed to be trying to
continue the conversation, but lacked fitting words. Skeeter Bill’s
gaze slowly swept the rear of visible buildings and came back to the
minister.
“Yuh don’t know what that man’s name was, do yuh?”
“They called him Mr. Tug, I think.”
“Mr. Tug,” said Skeeter slowly. “I know him.”
“Yes, I thought you did,” said the minister. “He told me he had ordered
you out of town.”
“My ----!” gasped Skeeter. “He didn’t leave much of anythin’ to talk
about, did he? Was the lady there when he talked so much?”
“Yes. He said she should know everything. But I assure you that we are
very grateful----”
“You’re awful danged welcome,” said Skeeter bitterly. “Good day.”
Skeeter started to shut the door.
“Just a moment,” said the minister, and Skeeter turned his head. “Do
you know of a family named Honkatonk? I have a message to the Honkatonk
girls, and I----”
But Skeeter Bill shut the door, leaving the minister finishing his
sentence to the exterior of the shack.
* * * * *
Judge Tareyton faced Skeeter and they stared at each other for several
moments. From outside came the sound of footsteps as the minister turned
and started away. Then the judge sat down on his bunk and picked up the
bottle.
“At any rate, Skeeter Bill, you are relieved from any further necessity
of assisting the spreading of gospel in Sunbeam town.”
Skeeter stared at the floor and rubbed a hand slowly across his chin.
“Well, judge, they can’t say I lied to ’em. I told ’em I was a
horse-thief but they wouldn’t believe me.”
“Skeeter Bill,” said the judge seriously, “you have been vindicated, but
I still maintain that we are in a ---- precarious position.”
“Feller can’t die but once, judge.”
“Nor live,” nodded the judge, “I am still of the opinion that our skin
is worth more to us than to posterity. Tonight, when the mantle of
darkness covers the hills, we really must fold our tents and silently
steal away.”
“I am a thief,” nodded Skeeter, “but I won’t steal away. Tonight when
this here mantle covers the hills, I’m goin’ to church; _sabe?_”
Judge Tareyton measured a spot on the bottle and lowered the contents to
the exact spot.
“Skeeter Bill, I shall go with you. It will shock the devil--I am
very sure of that, but there will be little cause for the angels to
sing--yet.”
Judge Tareyton sighed with regret as the supply of liquor dwindled.
Night came swiftly after the sunset, and the room was already in
semidarkness. Across the room from the judge stood Skeeter Bill,
leaning against the one window, his tall figure slightly bowed. There
were no sounds in the room except the creak of the bed as the judge
reached for and replaced the almost empty bottle.
Suddenly Skeeter straightened and peered out of the window. A figure was
coming toward the shack. As it came closer Skeeter saw that it was Mary
Leeds. As she passed the corner of the shack, Skeeter stepped over and
opened the door.
She stopped just short of the doorway and peered at him. Neither of them
spoke for nearly a minute, then Skeeter Bill said softly--
“Evenin’, ma’am.”
“Oh, I--I couldn’t see you very well,” faltered Mary Leeds, “I----”
“Won’t yuh come in?” asked Skeeter.
“No, I----”
“Thassall right,” nodded Skeeter. “I don’t blame yuh.”
“But I want you to--I--” Mary Leeds grew confused.
“Lemme say it for yuh, ma’am. You know I’m a bad _hombre_, but you’re
tryin’ to excuse me. That’s fine. I sure do appreciate it, but the fact
that I’m a bad _hombre_ still hangs around, don’t it? Mebbe you’re sorry
for me, ma’am.”
“Yes,” said Mary Leeds simply.
“Don’t do it, ma’am,” Skeeter straightened up. “Don’t do it. Laugh at me
if yuh want to, but----”
“I just wanted you to know that it doesn’t make any difference what
they say about you,” interrupted Mary Leeds. “You were very kind and
considerate, and I want to thank you for it.”
Judge Tareyton came slowly to the door, brushing back his long hair and
trying to make his weak knees carry his dead-weight body.
“Good evening,” said Mary Leeds.
“I have never seen a better one,” replied the judge hoarsely, bowing
with difficulty. “The night hath many charms, but never before have I
observed them from my own door. Will you not come in?”
“No,” Skeeter shook his head. “No, judge. It ain’t square to her to
ask her into our house, ’cause she might accept to keep from hurtin’
our feelin’s.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mary Leeds softly, and turned away.
* * * * *
They watched her disappear in the direction of the Porter home.
“She is sorry,” stated the judge. “Did you hear that, Skeeter Bill? She
pities you, and pity is akin to love.”
Skeeter laughed hoarsely.
“Pity a horse-thief? Mebbe she could, judge, but it would be as
impossible as ---- for her to love one. No, she don’t feel sorry for
me. She’s like a lot of human bein’s, who comes around and tells yuh
how sorry they are--not doin’ it because they’re sorry, but because
they figger that it’s the proper thing to do. If she was honest she’d
tell me that she was much obliged for my help and sorry she bothered
me.”
“I would rather hear you laugh, Skeeter Bill,” said the judge. “Tug
Leeds would howl with delight if he knew how you were feeling at
this moment. I anticipate something out of the ordinary in sermons
tonight, as I am keyed to such a pitch that I could enjoy something
extraordinary.”
“If I go there it will mean a killing,” said Skeeter thoughtfully. “The
preacher and the girl both think I’m plumb ornery now, and if I start a
killin’ they won’t feel any better about me.”
“Painful but true,” admitted the judge. “But just why did Tug Leeds give
them the use of the saloon? It is a sure thing that it is not because he
favors a sermon. Mary Leeds is a mighty likely-looking girl, Skeeter
Bill.”
Skeeter nodded and turned away from the door. It was dark in the cabin
and Skeeter mechanically picked up an old bottle and lit the candle
which was stuck in the neck. The candle flickered for a moment from a
draught from the open door. Came the crash of splintering glass, the
candle disappeared, and from outside sounded the whip-like crack of a
rifle.
Skeeter flung himself sidewise against the wall, while the judge
stumbled out of line with the door. Two more shots pinged through the
door, splintering their way out through the back of the cabin.
“Skeeter!” called the judge fearfully.
“Present,” grunted Skeeter. “Everythin’ accounted for except the bottle
and candle. Keep out of line with that door, judge.”
“Tug Leeds opens the dance,” observed the judge.
“With a bad mistake,” chuckled Skeeter. “He should ’a’ held a foot
further to the left. That’s the beauty of bein’ skinny, judge. If you’d
’a’ been in my place you’d a been a ghost right now.”
“What will we do now?”
“Kill somebody, judge. That was a good bottle. I reckon we’ll have to
Injun a little, but it kinda makes me happy, don’t yuh know it.”
They remained flattened against the walls for a while, but no more shots
were fired. A cloudy sky blotted out the moon, which made it safe for
them to leave their protection.
“Just what is our move, Skeeter Bill?” asked the judge. “It is likely
that the bushwhacker still desires our demise.”
“I dunno,” confessed Skeeter softly, searching around on the floor for
their candle and placing it on the table.
“I’ve got to see Tug Leeds for a minute or two, and then I’ll--sh-h-h!”
Some one was walking boldly to the cabin, making no pretense of keeping
quiet. Skeeter stepped in closer to the half-open door, covering the
opening with his gun. A man stumbled on the crude step and grasped the
side of the door.
“Sarg!” he called softly.
“Kinda close to yuh, pardner,” said Skeeter Bill easily.
The man laughed.
“Thought I’d missed yuh, Sarg. This is McClung.”
He stepped inside. Skeeter Bill scratched a match as he closed the door,
and walked over to the candle.
“Didn’t see no light, so I thought mebbe yuh was uptown,” observed
McClung, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.
“The mosquitoes were bad,” explained the judge. “They’re deadly enough
in the dark and we don’t intend to give them a light to work by.”
“I dunno much about ’em,” grinned McClung. “Never seen one in this
country.”
“Perhaps I was wrong,” admitted the judge; “I am no bugologist, but I
heard several of them humming and just drew a natural conclusion.”
McClung looked curiously at Skeeter, who laughed.
“Somebody fired three shots through the door and one of ’em busted the
light.”
“In the dark?” asked McClung.
“Few minutes ago,” assented Skeeter. “Didn’t amount to nothin’, but
kinda shows that a feller’s home ain’t sacred nowadays.”
McClung smiled, but grew serious.
“Sarg, we gave you until tomorrow to decide about leadin’ us, but the
boys are at the Keystone cabin and they want to see yuh.”
Skeeter looked at the judge, who was hanging a blanket over the one
window. Suddenly the judge staggered back, as if from a heavy blow,
and from the outside came the _whang_ of a rifle.
The judge regained his balance and turned, a quizzical look on his
frowsy face. He looked at Skeeter and McClung and pointed back at the
window.
“Skeeter Bill--you--forgot--window--I--I--they--by--gad--it’s--dark----”
He swayed forward and Skeeter Bill caught him in his arms and
half-dragged him to the bed. McClung helped Skeeter remove the judge’s
old Prince Albert coat and the faded shirt. The bullet had torn its way
completely through the shoulder, making a wicked wound.
“Lucky it was on the right side,” muttered McClung.
Skeeter Bill’s homely face was drawn with suffering as he looked down
at his partner--his old drunken lawyer partner--and then he looked up
at McClung.
“He can’t make it, McClung,” hoarsely. “He’s all burnt up with whisky.
Might as well hit him dead center.”
Judge Tareyton gasped and opened his eyes. For a moment he seemed
uncertain, but the blurred look faded from his eyes and he half-smiled
up at Skeeter.
“I know you won’t lie to me, Skeeter Bill,” he said weakly. “Have I got
a chance?”
Skeeter’s eyes turned slowly away and the lines of his face seemed to
harden to granite as he turned slowly back and looked down at the judge.
“Judge, that ain’t a fair question. God A’mighty is the only one what
can answer that. Old pardner, you’ve got a big hole in your right
shoulder and your body ain’t fit for a hard battle. You’ve still got
a fightin’ chance, but it’s got to be fought with your brains.”
Judge Tareyton smiled.
“Brains? Skeeter Bill, if I had brains I would still have a fighting
body. You have been good to me, son. It appears that until now I have
not realized how good you have been.”
Skeeter Bill turned away, rubbing the palms of his hands on his hips.
The blurred look came back to Judge Tareyton’s eyes and he began to
talk incoherently.
“Doc Brashear went to Ophir this afternoon,” said McClung softly. “There
ain’t a soul what can help him, Sarg.”
“Oh, ----, don’t I know it?” groaned Skeeter. “He’s just a drunken old
lawshark, McClung, but he’s my pardner. He’s the only one what cares a
---- about me. That shot was for me, don’t yuh know it?”
Skeeter looked back at the bed for a moment and then turned to McClung.
“Friend, will yuh stay here with him for a little while? I dunno
whether he’d like it or not, but I’m goin’ to get that preacher. They
use preachers when folks are passin’ out, don’t they?”
“They do when they can get ’em,” agreed McClung.
Skeeter shifted his cartridge belt and pulled his hat down over his
eyes.
“Mebbe this one won’t want to come, but he’ll come if I have to cripple
his legs and pack him here.”
Skeeter hurried to the Porter shack, but there was no one at home.
Skeeter had no way of telling what time it was, but he knew that the
minister must be at the Panhandle and that it would be a man-sized
job to hold conversation with him in that place.
X
Sunbeam had started in early on its nightly orgy. The yellow lights from
the saloons and gambling-houses threw shadows out of which weaved miner
and cowboy as they made their way from place to place. The rasping notes
from fiddles, the discordant jangle of out-of-tune piano, blended with
the raucous whoops from alcoholized vocal cords.
Skeeter Bill noticed that the larger crowd was at the Panhandle and he
surmised that the sermon was the attraction. Straight to the doorway he
went and squeezed his way inside. Luckily Skeeter was taller than most
of the crowd, which gave him an almost unobstructed view of things.
On the performer’s platform stood the minister, with Mary Leeds beside
him. At the other end of the platform was the fiddler and piano player.
Tug Leeds leaned against the piano, grinning at a half-nude dance-hall
girl, who was just coming from the rear of the platform. She halted at
the center and laughed down at the crowd, which yelped a welcome to
her. Tug Leeds swung away from the piano and came to her side, where he
held up his hand for silence.
“Gents, it’s customary to open church with a song, ain’t it? All right,
we’ll have the song.”
The two-piece orchestra broke into the introduction of a vulgar
honkatonk song--a song too unclean for sober minds. Skeeter Bill
knew what it meant--knew what Tug Leeds was aiming at. He was going
to disgust the minister. Mary Leeds’ face was indistinct through the
haze of tobacco smoke, but Skeeter could see her glance around as if
seeking an avenue of escape. The minister moved closer to her, as
though to protect her as much as possible.
The shrill voice of the singer began on the second verse, when Skeeter
moved forward. No one gave him any heed except to swear at him for
jostling them. Tug Leeds’ gang were grouped close to the platform,
enjoying the song, when Skeeter Bill shoved his way past the last man
and sprang to the platform. The fiddler blocked his way, but Skeeter
flung him aside and he fell off the edge of the platform into the
crowd.
Tug Leeds leaned forward and stared at Skeeter, who stepped back until
he had no one behind him. Skeeter swung a heavy pistol in his right
hand as he faced the assemblage. Like a flash the singer darted back
and disappeared to the rear of the platform. Not a sound came from the
audience. Suddenly a man seemed to move. Like a flash Skeeter fired
straight down into the front row of the crowd.
The heavy pistol seemed to shake the building--then absolute silence for
a moment. A man spoke:
“By ----, that’s shootin’! Cullop never moved, ’cept to go down.”
“What do you want here?” asked Tug, and his voice was almost a croak.
Skeeter Bill never moved a muscle and his eyes were invisible slits,
which seemed to hide the pupils completely, making it impossible to
tell just where he was looking. His lips barely moved as he replied:
“Your hired murderer missed me and hit my pardner. I want the preacher
to go and see him.”
“Don’t move, Tug,” he gritted, as Leeds relaxed. “I’m takin’ a little
time on your case. ’Pears to me that I can’t make up my mind whether
to shoot yuh through the head and kill yuh all to once or to shoot
your insides out one at a time and give me somethin’ to laugh at.”
From down in the crowd came a toneless laugh. Sandy McClain was standing
on the front row, one arm still in a sling. The laugh jarred on Tug’s
nerves and he turned his head to glare at McClain.
Men began to ease out of the place, backing into each other in their
haste to get out of range. The minister and Mary Leeds had turned and
were staring at Skeeter.
“You want the preacher?” asked Tug hoarsely. “I ain’t keepin’ him, am
I?” Tug’s voice shrilled at the finish of the sentence.
“You dirty coyote!” Skeeter’s voice was dangerously even. “You brought
that preacher and the girl here to make ’em ashamed. You invited ’em to
use this place for a church and then you makes ’em listen to a rotten
song sung by a naked woman who ain’t got no more shame than a buzzard.”
Tug Leeds did not reply. From down on the floor in front of the crowd
came a muffled curse. Some one had trampled on the fiddler’s hand. Again
came Sandy McClain’s toneless chuckle. Skeeter Bill spoke directly to
the minister.
“Go to my place as fast as yuh can and see if there’s anythin’ yuh can
do for my pardner. Take the girl with yuh, and see if yuh can’t find
Mrs. Porter. This ain’t no place for either of yuh. Git goin’, can’t
yuh?”
The platform was built about three feet above the floor level and the
entrance was at the rear, but the minister dropped to the floor and
helped Mary Leeds down. The crowd parted to let them through, but
closed in behind them again. Skeeter saw three of Leeds’ men swing in
behind them, but he was unable to stop them before the lane was choked
with moving figures. For an instant Skeeter was off his guard, but it
was enough.
Like a flash Tug Leeds grasped the back of the fiddler’s chair and
hurled it at Skeeter. Leeds was a powerful man and he threw the chair
as an ordinary man would fling a cane. Skeeter whirled and fired, but
the chair struck him across the face and hand, spoiling the shot.
Before he could shoot again Leeds was into him with a rush and they
went backward off the platform.
The crash of their fall shook the building, but they fell sidewise
with neither man on top. A pistol flashed almost in Skeeter’s face
and the powder seared his cheek, but he broke Leeds’ hold and plowed
forward on his hands and knees. Men were kicking at him and more
than one landed, but he managed to block them from his face. Above
the yells of the attack came the slow _pop-pop_ of a pistol, as if
some one were shooting deliberately.
Skeeter fought his way to his feet, crashing a man against the wall
and securing his gun by main strength. He dashed the blood from his
forehead, where he had cut it in the struggle for the gun, and
whirled.
Against the side of the platform stood Sandy McClain, leaning on his
injured arm, and as Skeeter looked he fired his last shot. A man slid
against the wall, clawing for support and went down. From the packed
crowd came a shot and McClain dropped his gun. He swayed for a moment,
looked over toward Skeeter and spoke clearly:
“Go after Leeds, Sarg! He’s got it framed to steal the girl for himself
and then lead the vigilantes to hang you for it. You’ve spoiled his
game, but he’s tryin’ to get her anyway.”
Skeeter Bill shoved away from the wall, covering the remains of the
crowd.
“Why do you tell me this, McClain?” asked Skeeter.
McClain laughed tonelessly, swaying on his feet.
“Go and get her, man. For ----’s sake don’t let Tug----”
He swayed to his knees and sat flat on the floor.
Skeeter backed to the door and sprang into the night. He had no idea
of where to go. Blindly he ran to the Porter shack and flung the door
open. Mrs. Porter, resplendent in a new hat, which was half-twisted on
her head, her dress torn and soiled, as if she had been in a battle,
was sitting rigidly in a home-made rocking-chair, staring into space.
“Where is that girl?” asked Skeeter breathlessly.
Mrs. Porter looked at him trance-like, and he went over and shook her
roughly.
“Where is that girl?” he repeated.
“The stable!” Mrs. Porter’s vocal cords suddenly came to life. “Tug
Leeds’ stable! I was near the door of the saloon when they came out. Two
men grabbed her. I tried to stop them but they knocked me down.” Mrs.
Porter shook as if she had a chill, but continued. “Then Tug Leeds came
running and helped them. I--I--they struck me when I screamed, but I saw
them go to Tug’s stable.”
Skeeter Bill whirled and ran out. It was about three hundred yards to
Leeds’ stable and corral, but Skeeter covered the distance as if running
for his life. Around the corral fence he ran and stopped just in time to
keep from crashing into several saddled horses. Muffled voices came from
inside the barn, and he could hear Tug Leeds’ voice cursing harshly.
The door was flung open and the three came out, carrying a muffled
figure. Skeeter was standing on the right side of the horse, motionless
as a statue. The men came up to the left side of the animal.
“Is this the right horse?” asked Tug.
“Uh-huh,” growled one of the men.
“Well, rope her on good,” ordered Tug. “Tie her feet to the stirrups and
under the horse’s belly and then tie her to cantle and horn. I hope to
---- that somebody killed Sarg. He busted up a good thing for me, ----
him! Now, we’ve all got to leave. Anyway, I got that old booze fightin’
lawyer.”
Not a sound came from the muffled figure as they hoisted it to the
saddle.
“Go around and rope the other side, Allen,” said Leeds.
Skeeter stepped in close to the horse, and as Allen came up from under
the horse’s neck Skeeter brought the barrel of his six-shooter down
across his head. Allen dropped without a sound.
“What in ---- was that?” asked Leeds.
Skeeter reached out, picked up the reins and with a swift spring swung
on behind the saddle. As his left leg whirled across he felt the toe of
his boot strike a man in the head.
Came a muffled curse, and the flash of a pistol lit up the scene. The
horse whirled sidewise, snorting with fear, and bucked viciously. It
was probably its first experience in carrying double and it resented
it with every muscle in its body.
Skeeter grasped the swaying figure in both arms, locked his heels
into the animal’s flanks and rode as he had never ridden before. They
crashed into the corral fence and the horse stumbled to its knees,
but floundered back into its stride and pitched straight ahead in the
dark, while behind them came curses and pistol shots.
Skeeter had no control over the bucking horse, as he had to devote all
his time to keeping himself and the blanketed figure in the saddle from
being thrown. He was forced to drop his gun. Leeds and his men had
selected a powerful horse--a horse well versed in the arts of bucking,
and Skeeter was riding under a handicap. He was unable to judge the
future actions of the animal, unable to see where they were going.
Suddenly the animal seemed to spin in the air, came the crash of
splintering poles and the horse and its riders came down in a tangle.
The horse had bucked sidewise into a pole corral.
Skeeter rolled loose from the tangle, dazedly trying to prevent the
horse from regaining its feet. He knew that Mary Leeds’ right foot
must be tied to a stirrup and that he must not let the horse get up.
Suddenly he realized that the horse was making no effort to rise. It
was but the work of a moment to remove the ropes from the stirrup
and drag her away from the saddle.
He found a match and scratched it on his boot heel. From the folds of a
large blanket Mary Leeds’ frightened eyes looked up into his face.
“Skeeter Bill,” she whispered painfully.
“One and the same,” grinned Skeeter painfully. “We sure do meet in the
----est places, don’t we, ma’am.”
As the match flickered out he saw her eyes close and her body relax.