CHAPTER NINE
THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY
It was the next day that Arthur Rale, the district attorney, called onthe new sheriff. He was a heavy-jowled, heavy-handed, heavy-bodiedindividual, with black hair, close-set eyes, and, what was curiously atvariance with those heavy jowls, a long and pointed nose.
Billy Wingo was expecting the district attorney to pay him a visit.For Shotgun Shillman had been told that Tip O'Gorman, Rafe Tuckletonand Judge Driver had spent the morning closeted with that gentleman.
Billy Wingo was cleaning a Winchester when the district attorneyknocked and entered.
"Si'down, Arthur," invited Bill, indicating a chair with the barrel ofthe rifle.
The district attorney returned the salutation gruffly. Billy smiledsweetly down at the rifle stock he was hand-rubbing. Mr. Rale stampedhis feet, hung up his hat and coat and sat down heavily in the chair.Resting both fists on his knees, he fixed Billy with a hard eye.
"What's this I hear?" he wished to hear.
"I dunno," said truthful William.
"I hear you've appointed Shillman and Tyler deputies," Rale saidaccusingly.
"Seems to me I _have_ done something like that," admitted Billy.
"You've got to cancel their appointments."
"Got to?"
"Got to."
"I must be gettin' deaf," drawled Billy. "Seems like I heard you saygot to."
"You heard me right," declared Rale, with a vicious snap of strong,white teeth. "You cancel those appointments and put in Johnson andKenealy instead."
"Everybody seems to want those two fellers," said Billy, wagging apuzzled head. "I don't understand it."
The district attorney leaned forward. His broad, flat face wasvenomous in its expression.
"Look here," he said harshly, "you like Hazel Walton, don't you?"
Whang! In that confined space the crash of the gun was deafening. Thedistrict attorney, coughing in the smoke, picked up himself and hischair from the ground. He had fallen over backward at the shot, struckthe back of his head and now his actions were purely mechanical.
"Dazed you like, didn't it?" Billy queried in a soft voice. "You didhit pretty hard. Luck is with you to-day. I'll bet if you went downto Crafty's, you'd bust the bank and Crafty's heart."
Rale did not take the palpable hint. He sat down again and lookeduncertainly at Billy Wingo. He had courage, this district attorney,the species of courage, you understand, that to function properly musthave a shade the better of the break, that bets always on a sure thingand never on an uncertainty.
Rale had been knocked off balance mentally and physically. He did thewrong thing.
"You tried to murder me," he blurted out.
Billy shook a solemn head. "You're mistaken. If I'd tried to murderyou, I'd have done it. Accidents will happen, though, even to the mostcareful fellers. Yeah. You were speaking of the Waltons, Arthur. Ididn't quite catch what you said."
He gazed expectantly at the district attorney. It seemed to the latterthat the barrel of the rifle was in a line with the third button of hisvest. Certainly the muzzle looked as large as a mine opening. Was therifle cocked? Billy Wingo's large hand covered the breech. Billymoved the large hand a trifle. Yes, the rifle was cocked. Thedistrict attorney's eyes strayed downward. At Billy's feet was a spentshell.
"Look here," said Rale, "if that shot was an accident, why did you flipin a fresh cartridge?"
"How do you know I worked the lever?" demanded Billy.
"Because the spent shell's on the floor between your feet."
"You've been reading those detective stories again. Arthur. It wouldlook mighty bad for me if you were to pass out in here to-night.You're a big man and a heavy man. And the ground is frozen harder thanrock. Bet I'd have to use a pick. I hope, Arthur, you're not thinkingof doing anything to make me use a pick."
Billy had uttered these sinister words in a mild and plaintive tone.The expression of his countenance was even milder and more plaintive.The district attorney found it difficult to believe that he had heardaright. Yet he had heard the report of the rifle aright. There couldbe no mistake about that.
The district attorney sat rigidly erect. He cleared his throat. Hewished his heart would stop pounding so hard. Odd, too, that it shouldseem to have moved out of its usual position to another that wasalready occupied by his windpipe. Breathing and speaking were rendereddifficult. Quite so.
He cleared his throat again. "Wingo," he said, "are you threateningme?"
"Threatening you?" Billy said in a shocked tone. "Certainly not.Wouldn't think of such a thing."
The district attorney tried again. "Wingo, I don't know what to dowith you. I----"
"Don't do anything," suggested Billy. "I'd feel better about it, too."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, I would. I've got a new job here, Arthur, and I guess it willkeep me busy--busy enough, anyway. And how am I going to swing it anddo justice to the taxpayers, if well-meaning fellers like you are allatime experimentin' with me?"
"Wingo," said the district attorney sternly, "stop this tomfoolery!Instantly! You have played the buffoon long enough."
"All right," smiled Billy. "I'll be good."
"That's better. Much better. Keep to that tone and we'll get along,we'll get along."
Again the district attorney cleared his throat.
"Lord, Lord," thought Billy Wingo, "what a foolish thing this man is!"
The district attorney picked up the thread of his discourse. "We can'thave you upsetting our plans in any way, Wingo. We can't have it, andwe won't have it. I order you to immediately cancel the appointmentsof Shillman and Tyler and appoint instead Johnson and Kenealy. Do youunderstand?"
"Yes," said Billy in a weary voice, "I understand. I understandperfectly. You can go now."
"I'll go when I have your answer."
"Your mistake. You're going now."
So saying, Billy arose, lowered the hammer of his rifle to the safetynotch and laid the weapon on the table. Then he raised himself ontiptoe and stretched luxuriously. His arms came down slowly. Heturned a surprised gaze upon the district attorney.
"Haven't you started yet?" he said briskly. "Come, come, get a-going."
Even as he spoke he leaped with cat-like agility upon the districtattorney where he sat in his chair and wrenched the right arm of thatsurprised gentleman around behind his back. With his left hand,despite the struggles and protesting roars of the captive, he removed asix-shooter from a shoulder holster and a derringer from a vest pocket.
"You must be scared of some one," observed Billy Wingo, as thederringer followed the six-shooter to a place on the table. "Arise,pushing your stomach ahead of you, and depart in peace."
But the district attorney was averse to departing that way. "You willregret this outrage!" he bellowed, his ripe cheeks and the veins in hisneck swollen with passion.
"So will you," said Billy, twisting the man's arm ever so slightly."You are in a serious position. If you'd only realize it, and bereasonable, we'd all be happier. I don't want to break yourarm--unless I have to. Observe, Mr. Man, how easily I could do it."
So saying, he pushed the district attorney's arm somewhat farther uphis back. The district attorney groaned. Billy eased the pressure.The district attorney began to curse. Billy, boosting him with hisknee, assisted him toward the door.
With his left hand Billy withdrew the bar from the staple, opened thedoor, swung his right foot and kicked the district attorney out into asnowdrift. After him Billy tossed his coat and cap. Then he closedthe door and shoved the bar into place.
"And that's that," said Billy Wingo.
The Rider of Golden Bar Page 9