Who Wants to Live Forever?

by William MacLeod Raine

  Frank dealt him two, laid down the pack, held three of his, and gave himself the same number as his opponent. Hal chanced to be looking at Hanford when the man glanced at his two new cards. The quick flicker of surprise in the fellow's eyes told Hal that he had helped his hand beyond expectation. Hal guessed that he was holding, not a full house, but fours.

  Hanford checked the bet.

  'I can't insult my hand by not betting,' Frank announced, and he pushed in two yellows.

  A ten-dollar raise must mean that he had filled, but Hal would have given odds that Hanford held the better hand. He waited, keenly interested to see what the man from Texas would do.

  'I ought to raise you,' Hanford said, and tapped the table with his fingertips while he pretended to weigh the chances. 'I ought to, but I won't. My luck's out tonight.'

  Hal was the next dealer, and he was gathering in the discard when Hanford threw down his cards.

  Lovell spread his cards, laughed gleefully, and reached for the pot. He had laid down three kings. 'Fooled you that time, Cad,' he exulted. 'Or were you bluffing?'

  'Three jacks,' answered the hill nester. 'I didn't help.'

  Hal drew Hanford's five cards toward him, as if to put them in the pack. 'I've got twenty says you had Frank beat,' he remarked to Hanford quietly.

  The hooded eyes of Hanford fastened on Stevens. They were bleak and cold as a blast from the north in January. 'You'll never know,' he replied, resentment in the grating voice.

  What Hal did then was something he had never done before, a clear violation of poker ethics. He flipped the cards over so that they lay face up. Hanford had been holding four aces and a five spot.

  Of the six men present only one was ready for this critical moment, the one who had set the scene. The others sat in icy silence, startled at the challenge flung at them. When they recovered, it was too late. Hal had pushed back his chair and risen. The .38 army special was in his hand.

  'Take it easy,' he warned. 'Don't make a move. Hands on the table, gentlemen.'

  'What the hell is this?' Frawley growled, his face purple with rage. There was a scar on one side of the crooked nose, and it stood out white against the blood-filled cheeks.

  'A showdown,' Hal told him, his voice sharp and imperative. 'There won't be any fireworks, unless your fingers get itchy. Frank, collect the hardware and throw it out of the window. I don't want to tempt any of your friends to suicide.'

  'Now look here, Hal,' Frank began.

  'Don't talk. Get the guns.'

  The cool, hard eyes, the day-of-judgment voice, decided Frank. He made a circuit of the table. Polk and Frawley were not carrying weapons. Hanford's revolver went out of the window. Brick Fenwick said, murderous eyes fixed on Stevens, 'Don't touch my gun, Frank.'

  The revolver in Hal's hand covered steadily the young ruffian's chest. 'Disarm him, Frank. Check up to see he hasn't two guns.' He added, the words as chill as water from a Newfoundland iceberg, 'I'll blast him off the map if he stirs.'

  Frank found an automatic in Fenwick's pocket and tossed it into the dark night outside.

  'Sure he hasn't another?' Hal snapped.

  'That's all,' Lovell said.

  'Fine. Now I'll talk. You've been a sucker for months, Frank. These buzzards have been feasting on you. Frawley's losses are come-on stuff. The play was for him to be sore and lead you on to keep coming back to win from them what you had lost. After I butted in, they decided to let you win, so as to throw me off the track. Any chump could see you took two or three big pots when you didn't have the best hand. When I saw Hanford look at his last two cards, I could have told you he had fours. I thought he wouldn't call — and he didn't. Generous of him not to interfere with the small killing you were to make.'

  'That's a lie — everything you've said,' Hanford flung back, his half-shuttered eyes dark with menace. 'I misread my hand and didn't see the fourth ace.'

  'Better get glasses, Hanford,' the cattleman jeered. 'All right, Frank. Where do you go from here? I'm leaving. You going, too? Or do you stay with these crooks?'

  'Some day I'll fill you full of lead, smart aleck,' Fenwick said in a low deadly voice, and added a string of curses in the same tone.

  Hal's eyes held fast to the man, but his words were for Lovell. 'Make up your mind, Frank. It's one or the other. You go straight or crooked. Think fast.'

  The whole dirty intrigue was clear to Frank. He owed money to these men, and he had let them use him by way of payment. At least two of them were killers. He had not dared to tell them he could not make good the losses and to stand out against the raids on the ranch. But he had not suspected they had cheated him in the poker games. Anger boiled up in him.

  Always he had admired the reckless courage of Hal Stevens and found his audacity fascinating. Swiftly he came to a decision. He had been a craven fool, but, by Heaven, he would go straight now.

  'I'm with you, Hal,' he said.

  'Good. Cash your chips and mine. I'm sure Mr. Hanford will be glad to have you deputy banker.'

  'You can't call me a crook,' the Seven Up foreman told Stevens thickly, anger choking him. 'And I'll get you for this some day sure as you're a foot high. You can stand there back of that gun and insult me, but you haven't the nerve to go outside with me and settle this man to man.'

  'No, I haven't just now,' Hal agreed. 'Too many of your anxious friends around. All ready, Frank?'

  'In just a second.' Frank pushed the money box from him. 'Okey, Hal!'

  'Start my car for me, then get going in your own. Soon as I hear it moving, I'll be out.'

  Frank hesitated, his eyes shifting from one angry, threatening face to another. 'Hadn't we better go out together?' he asked in a low voice.

  'No. Do as I say. I'll be with you before you get out of the park.'

  A minute later, Hal heard the sound of his purring engine, and then the grating wheels of Lovell's automobile scraping loose gravel. His gaze traveled grimly around the circle. 'I'll be saying "Adios!" gentlemen. A pleasant time has been had by all. I'll leave you to talk it over among yourselves.'

  He backed out through the door, slammed it shut, and raced for his car. His enemies were boiling out of the cabin before he had slid under the wheel. Instantly he was on his way across the park. Shots slammed against the hill in front of him. A bullet struck the hub cap of a wheel and slanted off on ricochet. His car jumped along the rough road like a bucking broncho, but steadied as he took the hill to the rim above. On the summit he found Frank waiting.

  CHAPTER 5

  Frank Tells His Story

  YOU ALL RIGHT?' Frank asked.

  'Fine as silk. You'd better come home with me for the night. We've got to talk over this thing.'

  The boy hesitated. His sister would not like that, but she would not like any part of the story. He was not sure how much he was going to tell her.

  'Think maybe I ought to go home,' he said.

  'Not until we've figured out where we stand. I've declared war, and you are in it.' Hal looked across at the shadowy form of Lovell behind the wheel of the other car. 'I'm not sure that you are not in more danger than I. You'll have to put all your cards on the table, Frank, before we can decide what to do.'

  'I'll follow you to the M K,' Frank said. 'After we have talked I can go home.'

  When they drew up in the yard of the ranch house, a man came forward from the shadow of one of the buildings.

  'That you, Hal?' he called.

  'Right first time, Ranny,' Stevens answered lightly.

  'Where have you been?' Arnold inquired, admonition in his voice.

  Hal laughed. 'I've been playing poker. This is Frank Lovell.' His hand swept toward the new employee. 'Mr. Randolph Arnold, Frank.'

  The two men shook hands. Arnold's mind jumped back instantly to the previous question. 'Playing poker — where?'

  'With some of my neighbors. It's a long story. Let's go inside. Better get your gun first, Ranny. We may have visitors.'

  The cattleman
bolted the doors and drew the blinds before he sat down to recount the adventure of the night.

  'I don't know this gentleman,' Frank objected. 'He may be all right, but—'

  'He was my roommate at college,' Hal explained. 'Ranny was the best blocking back I ever knew. All I ever had to do was to trot along behind him and carry the ball. He is absolutely dependable.'

  'Is he visiting you?'

  'Recuperating from an illness, he says,' grinned Hal. 'But he looks right healthy to me. I hope he is. We may need a husky guy to break up interference.'

  Hal told the story of the poker game, his deductions from it, and the stormy finale.

  'You look for trouble?' Arnold said, after he had finished.

  'Double trouble. For Frank and for me.'

  'For you, certainly,' Arnold agreed. 'But perhaps not for Mr. Lovell. It depends on how much he knows.'

  Frank flushed. He had played a weak part and knew it. But no matter how much it embarrassed him, he had to come clean now.

  'Altogether I owe Frawley, Hanford, and Fenwick more than seventeen hundred dollars,' the boy blurted out.

  'From poker losses?' Hal inquired.

  'Yes.'

  'Why should they let you get in so deep?'

  Young Lovell found it difficult to answer that. He began twice and broke off, then poured out the words in a gulp. 'I overheard something Brick said one day, and it made me think they might be the cattle raiders. Nothing very definite. But I had a hunch. I began to put this and that together. Once I told them my suspicions, one night when I was a little drunk. Nothing was said to me then, but later Brick took me aside.'

  'And gave you a choice — to keep your mouth shut and live or to talk and get shot in the back.'

  'Something like that. I wanted to quit the game, but they wouldn't let me. It wasn't my money they wanted, because I didn't have any to speak of. The idea was to keep me close to them and in their debt. Then I dare not squawk. I've been losing ever since. They don't bother me about what I owe. They carry me on credit. But I knew I was gone if I was not careful.'

  'And you are to wink at the raids, even those against the Seven Up and Down,' Hal suggested. 'Probably they would claim the stock they steal is a rough offset against your poker losses.'

  'Yes,' Frank assented miserably. 'Though nothing has been said in words. They are very careful now about what I hear. The fact is, I don't know anything. I'm just guessing.'

  'You've guessed so much that you would be a valuable witness against them, Mr. Lovell,' said Arnold. 'You'll have to be very careful. They may decide that dead men tell no tales.'

  'Anyhow, I feel better now I've broken with them,' Frank said, and took a deep free breath. 'It's been hell living with this on my mind.'

  'It must have been.' Hal came to another angle of the problem. 'What about Frawley? He must be one of them. It is easy to see now how they could pull off their raids and not get caught.'

  'I think Jim told them what pastures they could rob safely on any given night,' Frank replied. 'I hate him more than I do any of the others. He has been with us ten years and now throws us down. And he's a terrible bully.'

  Hal lit a cigarette and took a few puffs before he spoke. 'It comes to this,' he summed up. 'We are sure we have spotted the thieves, but we still haven't any proof, nothing that would stand up in court.'

  'I suppose you will fire Frawley,' Arnold said to Frank.

  'Dale will, with some smoking words that ought to scorch his thick hide.' The boy grinned wryly. 'He'll try to take it out of me later.'

  Hal agreed. 'He's a vindictive scoundrel, and he'll have Black's gang with him. Stick close to the ranch, Frank. Don't go to town unless you have three or four armed men with you. Never ride your fences alone. You know too much. The thieves would feel safer if you were out of the way. For Pete's sake, keep away from brush country. Get this in your head and don't forget it. You will be murdered if they can kill you safely.'

  Young Lovell was startled at the harsh bluntness of Hal's words. He stared wide-eyed at his neighbor. 'Would they go that far?' he asked doubtfully. He wanted reassurance, though he had often felt as much himself, knowing how carefully they watched him.

  'Brick Fenwick would shoot his own brother if the man stood in his way. That man is a killer. So is Hanford. And I wouldn't trust Jim Frawley any farther than I could throw a bull by the tail.'

  'They'll be after you more than they will me.'

  'After both of us. But they can't get us if we don't give them a chance.' It occurred to Hal that he ought to impress on Dale Lovell's mind the danger in which her brother stood. 'Think I'll change my mind, Frank, and ride home with you. But we won't take the road. We'll go by the hill trail and drop down Frenchy's Draw to your pasture.'

  'Fine.' The boy was pleased with this arrangement. He thought it would be a good idea to have somebody else present when he broke the bad news to Dale. In the hearing of a comparative stranger, she would probably modify the blistering epithets she would be ready to pour on him. They drove over the hills in Frank's car to the ridge overlooking the valley and descended into it by way of the wide cañon known as Frenchy's Draw.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Fall of the Cards

  ALMOST BEFORE HAL was out of the cabin, Brick Fenwick plunged across the room for the rifle that stood in the corner. Cash Polk had to take only two steps to reach the revolver beneath the pillow on his bed. They collided at the door. The impact flung Cash against the jamb, but he was in the open first. The car was moving when his gun bucked from the shot aimed at the figure back of the wheel.

  Brick blazed away, too fast for an accurate aim. His second shot thudded against the car. The night was dark, and before he could fire again the coupe was a shadowy bulk nearly a hundred yards distant. Yet the crash of the rifle continued to fill the park, though he had now nothing but hope to guide the bullets.

  'No use,' Frawley cried savagely. 'He's got away — for this time.'

  The young killer lowered the rifle. 'That's right — for this time. I'm heading for the M K tonight to stop his clock.' He started for a car that stood close to the house.

  'Hold yore horses a minute, Brick,' Cash objected. 'We got to talk this over. No sense jumpin' the gun. When we settle his hash, I want it to be a sure thing. No finger of the law pointing at us. If we go raring over there hell-for-leather, some of us are liable to be shot. Anyhow, they will know who we are. A nice quiet dry-gulching would be better. Just one crook of the finger from the brush, with nobody wise to whose finger.'

  'Cash is right,' Hanford agreed. 'It would be crazy for us to attack the ranch house, with half a dozen of Stevens's punchers ready to pop away at us soon as we show up. Not good enough.'

  'Okey!' Frawley snarled. 'But when? When do we bump off this smart aleck? It can't be soon enough to suit me.'

  'Nor me. He's got the gall of a pack rat to hold us up and make monkeys of us.' Cash shook his fist at the darkness into which Hal had disappeared. 'The scalawag is living on borrowed time from tonight. Why not tomorrow morning — when he comes out of the house? From the ridge opposite.'

  They trooped back into the house, to discuss time and place. Frawley paced up and down the room, restless as a caged panther. The others sat around the table.

  'The sooner the better,' Fenwick said. 'Before he has any time to talk this over with other ranchers on the river. Soon as he steps out into the open tomorrow, like Cash said. Whoever does this will have to carry glasses, so as to make sure he is getting the right fellow.'

  Other plans were proposed and rejected. The ridge was not too far from the house for an accurate shot, and the killer could make a getaway safely in a car before any pursuit would be possible. If necessary, the other four would testify that he had been with them at the time of the shooting.

  Polk raised the question that was in all of their minds. 'Who is the best man to do it?' he asked, his eyes sliding from one to another.

  'Frawley is the best shot with a rifle,' Hanf
ord suggested.

  'I got to be at the Seven Up,' the foreman objected instantly. 'To look over a beef herd with the boss. She has a buyer from Denver coming out.'

  'You can be back there by that time,' Polk said.

  The stony eyes of Frawley rested on Polk. 'What's the matter with you doing it?'

  'I'm too short-sighted to see that far.'

  Fenwick laughed insultingly. 'Time for your excuse now, Cad,' he said to Hanford.

  The deadpan face of Hanford was expressionless. 'I haven't heard you offer to do the job, Brick.'

  'And you won't. We'll deal cards for it.'

  'Suits me,' Hanford assented.

  The other two agreed reluctantly.

  'Each of us will put fifty dollars in the pot, and it will all go to the guy who loses,' Brick proposed. 'The man who gets the high spade is out. One card to each of us. We'll deal in turn. The bird with the low spade or no spade in the finals is elected. If any time no spade shows, the dealer stays on the job. That clear?'

  'Anyone has the privilege of cutting the deck whenever he pleases,' Cash added suspiciously.

  They high-spaded for the first deal, and it fell to Hanford. He shuffled the cards and offered them for a cut, an offer that both Frawley and Polk accepted. The eyes of the other three were glued to the dealer. Hanford was an expert with cards, and none of the rest intended to let him pull any shenanigan. He dealt a queen of hearts to Cash, a three of clubs to the foreman, a seven of spades to Fenwick, and a four of spades to himself. The young Texan was out. This was one killing he did not have to do.

  On Polk's deal Hanford went out on a ten of spades.

  'We're certainly out of luck, Cad,' Fenwick drawled. 'One of the other boys is going to collect this two hundred in the jackpot.'

  'After he has collected Mr. Hal Stevens,' Hanford amended.

  'If you feel that way, Brick, you can take the two hundred and do the job yourself,' the foreman growled.

  'I wouldn't crowd you out of a nice paying job, Jim,' the boy answered, with a sneering laugh. 'One hundred and fifty plunks net, just for crooking a finger.'