CHAPTER XXXVIII
DUG DOBLE RIDES INTO THE HILLS
The booming of the guns died down. The acrid smoke that filled the roomlifted to shredded strata. A man's deep breathing was the only sound inthe heavy darkness.
Presently came a soft footfall of some one moving cautiously. A matchflared. A hand cupped the flame for an instant to steady it before thematch moved toward the wick of a kerosene lamp.
Dug Doble's first thought was for his own safety. The house door wasclosed, the window blinds were down. He had heard the beat of hoofs dieaway on the road. But he did not intend to be caught by a trick. Hestepped forward, locked the door, and made sure the blinds were offeringno cracks of light. Satisfied that all was well, he turned to the figuresprawled on the floor with outflung arms.
"Dead as a stuck shote," he said callously after he had turned the bodyover. "Got him plumb through the forehead--in the dark, too. Someshootin', Shorty."
He stood looking down at the face of the man whose brain had spun somany cobwebs of deceit and treachery. Even in death it had none of thatdignity which sometimes is lent to those whose lives have been full ofmeanness and guile. But though Doble looked at his late ally, he was notthinking about him. He was mapping out his future course of action.
If any one had heard the shots and he were found here now, no jury onearth could be convinced that he had not killed Steelman. His six-shooterstill gave forth a faint trickle of smoke. An examination would show thatthree shots had been fired from it.
He must get away from the place at once.
Doble poured himself half a tumbler of whiskey and drank it neat. Yes, hemust go, but he might as well take with him any money Steelman had in thesafe. The dead man owed him a thousand dollars he would never be able tocollect in any other way.
He stooped and examined the pockets of the still figure. A bunch of keysrewarded him. An old-fashioned safe stood in the corner back of the desk.Doble stooped in front of it, then waited for an instant to make surenobody was coming. He fell to work, trying the keys one after another.
A key fitted. He turned it and swung open the door. The killer drew outbundles of papers and glanced through them hurriedly. Deeds, mortgages,oil stocks, old receipts: he wanted none of these, and tossed them to thefloor as soon as he discovered there were no banknotes among them.Compartment after compartment he rifled. Behind a package of abstracts hefound a bunch of greenbacks tied together by a rubber band at each end.The first bill showed that the denomination was fifty dollars. Dobleinvestigated no farther. He thrust the bulky package into his inside coatpocket and rose.
Again he listened. No sound broke the stillness of the night. The silencegot on his nerves. He took another big drink and decided it was time togo.
He blew out the light and once more listened. The lifeless body of hisally lying within touch of his foot did not disturb the outlaw. He hadnot killed him, and if he had it would have made no difference. Verysoftly for a large man, he passed to the inner room and toward the backdoor. He deflected his course to a cupboard where he knew Steelman keptliquor and from a shelf helped himself to an unbroken quart bottle ofbourbon. He knew himself well enough to know that during the nexttwenty-four hours he would want whiskey badly.
Slowly he unlocked and opened the back door. His eyes searched the yardand the open beyond to make sure that neither his enemy nor a sheriff'sposse was lurking in the brush for him. He crept out to the stable,revolver in hand. Here he saddled in the dark, deftly and rapidly,thrusting the bottle of whiskey into one of the pockets of thesaddlebags. Leading the horse out into the mesquite, he swung to thesaddle and rode away.
He was still in the saddle when the peaks above caught the morning sunglow in a shaft of golden light. Far up in the gulches the new fallensnow reflected the dawn's pink.
In a pocket of the hills Doble unsaddled. He hobbled his horse and turnedit loose to graze while he lay down under a pine with the bottle for acompanion.
The man had always had a difficult temper. This had grown on him and beenresponsible largely for his decline in life. It had been no part of hisplan to "go bad." There had been a time when he had been headed forsuccess in the community. He had held men's respect, even though they hadnot liked him. Then, somehow, he had turned the wrong corner and beenunable to retrace his steps.
He could even put a finger on the time he had commenced to slip. It hadbegun when he had quarreled with Emerson Crawford about his daughterJoyce. Shorty and he had done some brand-burning through a wet blanket.But he had not gone so far that a return to respectability wasimpossible. A little rustling on the quiet, with no evidence to fastenit on one, was nothing to bar a man from society. He had gone moredefinitely wrong after Sanders came back to Malapi. The young ex-convict,he chose to think, was responsible for the circumstances that made of himan outlaw. Crawford and Sanders together had exposed him and driven himfrom the haunts of men to the hills. He hated them both with a bitter,morose virulence his soul could not escape.
Throughout the day he continued to drink. This gave him no refuge fromhimself. He still brooded in the inferno of his own thought-circle. It ispossible that a touch of madness had begun to affect his brain. Certainlyhis subsequent actions would seem to bear out this theory.
Revenge! The thought of it spurred him every waking hour, roweling hiswounded pride cruelly. There was a way within reach of his hand, onesuggested by Steelman's whisperings, though never openly advocated bythe sheepman. The jealousy of the man urged him to it, and his consumingvanity persuaded him that out of evil might come good. He could make thegirl love him. So her punishment would bring her joy in the end. As forCrawford and Sanders, his success would be such bitter medicine to themthat time would never wear away the taste of it.
At dusk he rose and resaddled. Under the stars he rode back to Malapi. Heknew exactly what he meant to do and how he meant to do it.
Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West Page 38