Chapter II
"Cold feet?"
"Horrible!" said Anastacio.
Matthew Lisner, sheriff of Dona Ana, bent a hard eye on hissubordinate.
"It's got to be done," he urged. "To elect our ticket we must haveall the respectable and responsible people of the valley. If we canprovoke Foy into an outbreak----"
"Not we--you," corrected Anastacio. "Myself, I do not feel provoking."
"Are you going to lay down on me?"
"If you care to put it that way--yes. Kit Foy is just the man to leavealone."
"Now, listen!" said the sheriff impatiently. "Half the valley is ownedby newcomers, men of substance, who, with the votes they influenceor control, will decide the election. Foy is half a hero with them,because of these vague old stories. But let him be stirred up toviolence now and you'll see! They won't see any romance in it--just anopen outrage; they will flock to us to the last man. Ours is the partyof law and order--"
"Law _to_ order, some say."
The veins swelled in the sheriff's heavy face and thick neck; heregarded his deputy darkly.
"That comes well from you, Barela! Don't you see, with the law on ourside all these men of substance will be with us unconditionally?I tell you, Christopher Foy is the brains of his party. Once he isdiscredited--"
"And I tell you that I am the brains of your party and I'll havenothing to do with your fine plan. 'Tis an old stratagem to calloppression, law, and resistance to oppression, lawlessness. You triedjust that in ninety-six, didn't you? And I never could hear that ourside had any the best of it or that the good name of Dona Ana was inany way bettered by our wars. Come, Mr. Lisner--the Kingdom of LadyAnn has been quiet now for nearly eight years. Let us leave it so. Formyself, the last row brought me reputation and place, made me chiefdeputy under two sheriffs--so I need have the less hesitation insetting forth my passionate preference for peace."
"You have as much to gain as I have," growled the sheriff. "Besidesyour own cinch, you have one of your _gente_ for deputy in everyprecinct in the county."
"Exactly! And if we have wars again, who but the Barelas would bearthe brunt? No, no, Mr. Matt Lisner; while I may be a merely ornamentalchief deputy, it will never be denied that I am a very careful chiefto my _gente_. Be sure that I shall think more than once or twicebefore I set a man of my men at a useless hazard to pleasure you--orto reelect you."
"You speak plainly."
"I intend to. I speak for three hundred--and we vote solid. Make nomistake, Mr. Lisner. You need me in your business, but I can do nicelywithout you."
"Perhaps you'd like to be sheriff yourself."
"I might like it--except that I am not as young and foolish as I was,"said Anastacio, smiling. "Now that I am so old, and so wise and all,it is clear to see that neither myself nor any of the fighting men ofthe mad old days--on either side--should be sheriff."
"You were not always so thoughtful of the best interests of the dearpee-pul," sneered the sheriff.
"That I wasn't. I was as silly and hot-brained a fool as either sidecould boast. But you, Sheriff, are neither silly nor hot-headed. Incold blood you are planning that men shall die; that other men shallrot in prison. Why? For hate and revenge? Not even that. Oh, a littlespice of revenge, perhaps; Foy and his friends made you something ofa laughing stock. But your main motive is--money. And I don't see why.You've got all the money any one man needs now."
"I notice you get your share."
"I hope so. But, even as a money-making proposition, yourtroubled-voters policy is a mistake. All the mountain men want is tobe let alone, and you might be sheriff for life for all they care. Butyou fan up every little bicker into a lawsuit--don't I know? Just forthe mileage--ten cents a mile each way in a county that's jam full ofmiles from one edge to the other; ten cents a mile each way foreach and every arrest and subpoena. You drag them to court twice ayear--the farmer at seed time and harvest, the cowman from the springand fall round-ups. It hurts, it cripples them, they ride thirtymiles to vote against you; it costs you all the extra mileage money tooffset their votes. As a final folly, you purpose deliberately to stirup the old factions. What was it Napoleon said? 'It is worse thana crime: it is a blunder.' I'll tell you now, not a Barela nor anAscarate shall stir a foot in such a quarrel. If you want to bait KitFoy, do it yourself--or set your city police on him."
"I will."
A faint tinge of color came to the clear olive of Anastacio's cheek ashe rose.
"But don't promise my place to any of them, sheriff. I might hear ofit."
"Stranger," said Ben Creagan, "you can't play pool! I can't--and Ibeat you four straight games. You better toddle your little trottersoff to bed." The words alone might have been mere playfulness; glanceand tone made plain the purposed offense.
The after-supper crowd in the hotel barroom had suddenly slipped away,leaving Max Barkeep, three others, and John Wesley Pringle--the lastnot unnoting of nudge and whisper attending the exodus. Since that,Pringle had suffered, unprotesting, more gratuitous insults thanhe had met in all the rest of his stormy years. His curiosity wasaroused; he played the stupid, unseeing, patient, and timid person hewas so eminently not. Plainly these people desired his absence; andPringle highly resolved to know why. He now blinked mildly.
"But I'm not sleepy a-tall," he objected.
He tried and missed an easy shot; he chalked his cue with assiduouscare.
"Here, you! Quit knockin' those balls round!" bawled Max, thebartender. "What you think this is--a kindergarten?"
"Why, I paid for all the games I lost, didn't I?" asked Pringle, muchabashed.
He mopped his face. It was warm, though the windows and doors wereopen.
"Well, nobody's going to play any more with you," snapped Max. "Youbore 'em."
He pyramided the balls and covered the table. With a sad and lingeringbackward look Pringle slouched abjectly through the wide-archeddoorway to the bar.
"Come on, fellers--have something."
"Naw!" snarled Jose Espalin. "I'm a-tryin' to theenk. Shut up, won'tyou?"
Pringle sighed patiently at the rebuff and stole a timid glance at thethinker. Espalin was a lean little, dried-up manikin, with legs,arms, and mustaches disproportionately long for his dwarfish body. Hisblack, wiry hair hung in ragged witchlocks; his black pin-point eyeswere glittering, cold, and venomous. He looked, thought Pringle, verymuch like a spider.
"I'm steerin' you right, old man," said Creagan. "You'd better drag itfor bed."
"I ain't sleepy, I tell you."
Espalin leaped up, snarling.
"Say! You lukeing for troubles, maybe? Bell, I theenk thees _hombre_got a gun. Shall we freesk him?"
As he flung the query over his shoulder his beady little eyes did notleave Pringle's.
Bell Applegate got leisurely to his feet--a tall man, well set up,with a smooth-shaved, florid face and red hair.
"If he has we'll jack him in the jug." He threw back the lapel of hiscoat, displaying a silver star.
"But I ain't got no gun," protested John Wesley meekly. "You-all cansee for yourself."
"We will--don't worry! Don't you make one wrong move or I'll put outyour light!"
"Be you the sheriff?"
"Police. Go to him, Ben!"
"No gun," reported Ben after a swift search of the shrinking captive.
"I done told you so, didn't I?"
"Mighty good thing for you, old rooster. Gun-toting is strictly barredin Las Uvas. You got to take your gun off fifteen minutes after youget in from the road and you can't put it on till fifteen minutesbefore you take the road again."
"Is that--er--police regulations or state law?"
"State law--and has been any time these twenty-five years. Say, youdoddering old fool, what do you think this is--a night school?"
"I--I guess I'll go to bed," said Pringle miserably.
"I--I guess if you come back I'll throw you out," mimicked Ben with aguffaw.
Pringle made no answer. He shuffled into
the hall and up the stairwayto his bedroom. He unlocked the door noisily; he opened it noisily;he took his sixshooter and belt from the wall quietly and closed thedoor, noisily again; he locked it--from the outside. Then he did acurious thing; he sat down very gently and removed his boots.
* * * * *
The four in the barroom listened, grinning. When they heard Pringle'sdoor slam shut Bell Applegate nodded and Creagan went out on thestreet. Behind him, at a table near the pool-room door, the lawplanned ways and means in a slinking undertone. "You keep in thebackground, Joe. Let us do the talking. Foy just naturally despisesyou--we might not get him to stay the fifteen minutes out. You stayback there. Remember now, don't shoot till Ben lets him get his armloose. _Sabe_?"
"Maybe Meester Ben don't find heem."
"Oh, yes, he will. Ditch meeting to-night. Ought to be out about now.Setting the time to use the water and assessing _fatiga_ work. Everylast man with a water right will be there, sure, and Foy's got adozen. Max, you are to be a witness, remember, and you mustn't bemixed up in it. Got your story straight?"
"Foy he comes in and makes a war-talk about Dick Marr," recited Max."After we powwow awhile you see his gun. You tell him he's underarrest for carryin' concealed weapons. You and Ben grabbed his arm; hejerked loose and went after his gun. And then Joe shot him."
"That's it. We'll all stick to that. S-st! Here they come!"
There are men whose faces stand out in a crowd, men you turn to lookafter on the street. Such--quite apart from his sprightly past--wasChristopher Foy, who now entered with Creagan. He was about thirty,above middle height, every mold and line of him slender and fine andstrong. His face was resolute, vivacious, intelligent; his eyes werelarge and brown, pleasant and fearless. A wide black hat, pushed backnow, showed a broad forehead white against crisp coal-black hair andthe pleasant tan of neck and cheek. But it was not his dark, forcefulface alone that lent him such distinction. Rather it was the perfectpoise and balance of the man, the ease and unconscious grace of everyswift and sure motion. He wore a working garb now--blue overalls and ablue rowdy. But he wore them with an air that made him well dressed.
Foy paused for a second; Applegate rose.
"Well, Chris!" he laughed. "There has been a time when you might nothave fancied this particular bunch--hey? All over now, please thepigs. Come in and give it a name. Beer for mine."
"I'll smoke," said Foy.
"Me too," said Espalin.
He lit a cigar and returned to his chair. Ben Creagan passed behindthe bar and handed over a sixshooter and a cartridge belt.
"Here, Chris--here's the gun I borrowed of you when I broke mine. Muchobliged."
Foy twirled the cylinder to make sure the hammer was on an emptychamber and buckled the belt under his rowdy.
"My hardware is mostly plows and scrappers and irrigating hoesnowadays," he remarked. "Good thing too."
"All the same, Foy, I'd keep a gun with me if I were you. Dick Marr isdrinking again--and when he soaks it up he gets discontented overold times, you know." Applegate lowered his voice, with a significantglance at Espalin. "He threatened your life to-day. I thought youought to know it."
Foy considered his cigar.
"That's awkward," he replied briefly.
"Chris," said Ben, "this isn't the first time. Dick's heart is badto you. I'm sorry. He was my friend and you were not. But you're notlooking for any trouble now. Dick is. And I'm afraid he'll keep ontill he gets it. Me and the sheriff we managed to get him off to bed,but he says he's going to shoot you on sight--and I believe he meansit. You ought to have him bound over to keep the peace."
Foy smiled and shook his head.
"I can't do that--and it would only make him madder than ever. ButI'll get out of his way and keep out of his way. I'll go up to theJornado to-night and stay with the Bar Cross boys awhile. He won'tcome up there."
"You'll enjoy having people tellin' how you run away to keep frommeeting Dick Marr?" said Applegate incredulously.
"Why shouldn't they say it? It will be exactly true," responded Foyquietly, "and you're authorized to say so. I'm learning some sensenow; I'm getting to own quite a mess of property; I'm going to bemarried soon; and I don't want to fight anyone. Besides, quite apartfrom my own interests, other men will be drawn into it if I shoot itout with Marr. No knowing where it will stop. No, sir; I'll go punchcows till Marr quiets down. Maybe it's just the whisky talking. Dickisn't such a bad fellow when he's not fighting booze. Or maybe he'llgo away. He hasn't much to keep him here."
"Say, I could get a job offered to him out in San Simon," saidApplegate, brightening.
His eye rested on the clock over the long mirror. He stepped over tothe show case, clipped the end from a cigar and obtained a light froma shapely bronze lady with a torch. When he came back he fell in onFoy's left; at Foy's right Creagan leaned his elbows on the bar.
"Well, I'm obliged to you, boys," said Foy. "This one's on me. Comeon, Joe--have a hoot."
"Thanks, no," said Espalin. "I not dreenkin' none thees times. Eef Idreenk some I get full, and loose my job maybe."
"Vichy," said Foy. "Take something yourself, Max."
As Mr. Max poured the drinks an odd experience befell Mr. JoseEspalin. His tilted chair leaned against the casing of thebilliard-room door. As Max filled the first glass Espalin becamesuddenly aware of something round and hard and cold pressed againsthis right temple. Mr. Espalin felt some curiosity, but he satperfectly still. The object shifted a few inches; Mr. Espalinperceived from the tail of his eye the large, unfeeling muzzle of asixshooter; beyond it, a glimpse of the forgotten elderly stranger,Mr. Pringle.
Only Mr. Pringle's fighting face appeared, and that but for a moment;he laid a finger to lip and crouched, hidden by the partition and byEspalin's body. Mr. Espalin gathered that Pringle desired no outcryand shunned observation; he sat motionless accordingly; he felt a handat his belt, which removed his gun.
"Happy days!" said Foy, and raised his glass to his lips.
Creagan seized the uplifted wrist with both hands, Applegate pouncedon the other arm. Pringle leaped through the doorway. But somethinghappened swifter than Pringle's swift rush. Foy's knee shot up toApplegate's stomach. Applegate fell, sprawling. Foy hurled himself onCreagan and bore him crashing to the floor. Foy whirled over; he roseon one hand and knee, gun drawn, visibly annoyed; also considerablyastonished at the unexpected advent of Mr. Pringle. Applegate laygroaning on the floor. Pringle kicked his gun from the holster and setfoot upon it; one of his own guns covered the bartender and the otherkept watch on Espalin, silent on his still-tilted chair.
"Who're you!" challenged Foy.
"Friend with the countersign. Don't shoot! Don't shoot me, anyhow."
Foy rose from hand and knee to knee and foot. This rescuer, soopportunely arrived from nowhere, seemed to be an ally. But to avoidmistakes, Foy's gun followed Pringle's motions, at the same timewilling and able to blow out Creagan's brains if advisable. He alsoacquired Creagan's gun quite subconsciously.
"Let me introduce myself, gentlemen," said Pringle. "I'mJack-in-a-Pinch, Little Friend of the Under Dog--see Who's This? pagetwo-thirteen. My German friend, come out from behind that bar--handsup--step lively! Spot yourself! My Mexican friend, join Mr. Max.Move, you poisonous little spider--jump! That's better! Gentlemen--beseated! Right there--smack, slapdab on the floor. Sit down and think.Say! I'm serious. Am I going to have to kill some few of you justbecause you don't know who I am? I'll count three! One! two!--That'sit. Very good--hold that--register anticipation! I am a worldly man,"said Pringle with emotion, "but this spectacle touches me--it doesindeed!"
"I'll get square with you!" gurgled Applegate, as fiercely as hisbreathless condition would permit.
"George--may I call you George? I don't know your name. You may getsquare with me, George--but you'll never be square with anyone. Youare a rhomboidinaltitudinous isosohedronal catawampus, George!"
George raved unprintably. He made a motion
to rise, but reconsideredit as he noted the tension of Pringle's trigger finger.
"Don't be an old fuss-budget, George," said Pringle reprovingly."Because I forgot to tell you--I've got my gun now--and yours. Youwon't need to arrest me, though, for I'm hitting the trail in fifteenminutes. But if I wasn't going--and if you had your gun--you couldn'tarrest one side of me. You couldn't arrest one of my old boots!Listen, George! You heard this Chris-gentleman give his reasons forwanting peace? Yes? Well, it's oh-so-different here. I hate peace! Iloathe, detest, abhor, and abominate peace! My very soul with strongdisgust is stirred--by peace! I'm growing younger every year, I don'town any property here, I'm not going to be married; I ain't feelingpretty well anyhow; and if you don't think I'll shoot, try to getup! Just look as if you thought you wanted to wish to try to make aneffort to get up."
"How--who----" began Creagan; but Pringle cut him short.
"Ask me no more, sweet! You have no speaking part here. We'll do thetalking. I just love to talk. I am the original tongue-tied man; I ebband flow. Don't let me hear a word from any of you! Well, pardner?"
Foy, still kneeling in fascinated amaze, now rose. Creagan's nose wasbleeding profusely.
"That was one awful wallop you handed our gimlet-eyed friend," saidPringle admiringly. "Neatest bit of work I ever saw. Sir, to you! Mycompliments!" He placed a chair near the front door and sat down. "Ifeel like a lion in a den of Daniels," he sighed.
"But how did you happen to be here so handy?" inquired Foy.
"Didn't happen--I did it on purpose," said John Wesley. "You see,these four birds tipped their hand. All evening they been instructingme where I got off. They would-ed I had the wings of a dove, so Imight fly far, far away and be at rest. Now, I put it to you, do Ilook like a dove?"
"Not at present," laughed Foy.
"Well, I didn't like it--nobody would. I see there was a hen on, Iknew the lay of the ground from looking after my horse. So Iclomped off to bed, got my good old Excalibur gun--full name X.L.V.Caliber--slipped off my boots, tippytoed down the back stairs like aBarred Rock cat, oozed in by the side door--and here I be! I overheardtheir pleasant little plan to do you. I meant to do the big rescueact, but you mobilize too quick for me. All the same, maybe it's aswell I chipped in, because--take a look at them cartridges in yourgun, will you? Your own gun--the one they borrowed from you."
Foy twisted a bullet from a cartridge. There was no powder. The fourmen on the floor looked unhappy under his thoughtful eye.
"Nice little plant--what? Do we kill 'em?" said Pringle cheerfully. "Idon't know the rules well enough to break them. What was the big idea?Was they vexed at you, son?"
"It would seem so," said Foy, smiling. "We had a little war here aspell back. I suspect they wanted to stir it up again for politicaleffect. Election this fall."
"And you were not in their party? I see!" said Pringle, noddingintelligently, "Well, they sure had it fixed to make your side loseone vote--fixed good and proper. The Ben-boy was to let your righthand loose and the Joe-boy was to shoot you as you pulled your gun.Why, if you had lived to make a statement your own story woulda mightynear let them out."
"I believe that I am greatly obliged to you, sir."
"I believe you are," said Pringle. "And--but, also, I know the twogentlemen you were drinking with should be very grateful to you. Theyhad just half a second more to live--and you beat me to it. Too bad!Well, what next?"
Foy pondered a little.
"I guess I'll go up to the Bar Cross wagon, as I intended, till thingssimmer down. The Las Uvas warriors seldom ever bother the Bar CrossRange. My horse is hitched up the street. How'd you like to go alongwith me, stranger? You and me would make a fair-sized crowd."
"I'd like it fine and dandy," said Pringle. "But I got a little visitto make to-morrow. Maybe I'll join you later. I like Las Uvas," statedJohn Wesley, beaming. "Nice, lively little place! I think I'll settledown here after a bit. Some of the young fellows are shy on goodmanners. But I can teach 'em. I'd enjoy it.... Now, let's see: Ifyou'll hold these lads a few minutes I'll get my boots and saddle upand bring my horse to the door; then I'll pay Max my hotel bill andtalk to them while you get your horse; and we'll ride together till weget out in the open. How's that for a lay?"
That was a good lay, it seemed; and it was carried out--with oneaddition: After Foy brought his horse he rang Central and called upthe sheriff.
"Hello! That you, Mr. Lisner? This is Kitty Foy," he said sweetly."Sheriff, I hate to bother you, but old Nueces River, your chiefof police, is out of town. And I thought you ought to know that thepolice force is all balled up. They're here at the Gadsden Purchase.Bell Applegate is sick--seems to be indigestion; Espalin is havinga nervous spell; and Ben Creagan is bleeding from his happiest vein.You'd better come see to 'em. Good-by!"
Pringle smiled benevolently from the door.
"There! I almost forgot to tell you boys. We disapprove of youractions oh-very-much! You know you were doing what was very, verywrong--like three little mice that were playing in the barn thoughthe old mouse said: 'Little mice, beware! When the owl comes singing"Too-whoo" take care!' If you do it again we shall consider itdeliberately unfriendly of you.... Well, I'll toddle my decrepit oldbones out of this. Eleven o'clock! How time has flown, to be sure!Thank you for a pleasant evening. Good-by, George. Good-by, all! Begood little boys--go nighty-nighty!"
They raced to the corner, scurried down the first side street, turnedagain, and slowed to a gallop. Pringle was in high feather; he caroledblithesome as he rode:
_"So those three little owls flew back up in the barn-- Inky, dinky, doodum, day! And they said, 'Those little mice make us feel so nice and warm!' Inky, dinky, doodum, day! Then they all began to sing, 'Too-whit! Too-who!' I don't think much of this song, do you? But there's one thing about it--'tis certainly true-- Inky, dinky, doodum, day!"_
They reached the open; the gallop became a trot.
"I go north here," said Foy at the cross-roads above the town. "Whichway for you?"
"North too," said Pringle. "I don't know just where, but you can tellme. I go to a railroad station first--Aden. Then to the Vorhis place?"
"Vorhis? I'm going there myself?" said Foy. "You didn't tell me yourname yet."
"Pringle."
"What? Not John Wesley Pringle? Great Scott, man! I've heard Stellatalk about you a thousand times. Say, I'm sure glad to meet you! Myname's Foy--Christopher Foy."
"Why, yes," said Pringle. "I think I've heard Stella speak of you,too."
The Desire of the Moth; and the Come On Page 2