CHAPTER V
"COMIN' THIRTY" HAS NOTIONS
Up from the south, keeping Spring with him all the way, rode Tex. Thestain of the smoke-grimed cities was washed out of him in the pure air;day by day his muscles toughened and limbered, his lightning nervesregained their old spontaneity of action, each special sense vied withthe others in the perfection of service rendered, and gradually butsurely his pulse slowed until, in another man, its infrequency of beatwould have been abnormal. When he rode into Twin River, toward the endof a glorious day, he had become as tireless as the wiry pony beneathhim, whose daily toll of miles since leaving the far-off Bar-20 was wellnigh unbelievable.
Tex crossed the ford of the Black Jack behind the Sweet-Echo Hotel.Dirt had bespattered him from every angle; it was caked to mud on hisboots, lay in broad patches along his thighs, displayed itself lavishlyupon his blue flannel shirt, and had taken frequent and successful aimat his face; but two slits of sun-lit sky seemed peering out frombeneath his lowered lids, the pine-tree sap bore less vitality thansurged in his pulsing arteries, his lounging seat was the deceptivesloth of the panther, ready on the instant to spring; and over all, coolas the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies, ruled the calculatingintelligence, unscrupulous in the determination to win, now that it wason the side of the right, as when formerly it fought against it.
One glance at the imposing Sweet-Echo and Tex turned his pony's headtoward the trail. "No, no, Son John, you 'll not sleep there with yourstockings on--though I shan't ask you to go much farther," Tex assuredhim. "I 've seen prettier, and ridden cleverer, but none more willingthan you, Son John. Ah, this begins to look more like our style.'I-Call'--sweet gamester, I prithee call some other day; I would feed,not play. 'Ike's'--thy name savors overly much of the Alkali, brother.Ha! 'By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked that way bums.'"He had turned to cross the Jill and saw Pop Snow basking in the failingsunlight. "'Why-Not'--well, why not? I will."
"Come a long way, stranger?" asked Dirty, his gaze wandering over thetell-tale mud. He had come the wrong way for profit, but Dirty alwaysasked, on principle: he hated to get out of practice.
Tex swung his right leg over his pony's neck and sat sideways, lookingindolently at the pickled specimen who sat as indolently regarding him."Plucked from a branch of the Mussel Shell," murmured Tex, "when Timewas young"; and then drawled: "Tolerable, tolerable; been a-comin'thirty year, just about."
Dirty looked at him with frank disgust, spat carefully, and turning onhis seat no more than was absolutely necessary, stuck his head in at theopen door and yelled: "Hey, boys! Come on out an' meet Mr. Comin'Thirty. Comin' is some bashful 'bout drinkin' with strangers, so getacquaint."
Scenting a tenderfoot half a dozen of the inmates strolled outside.When they saw the sun-tanned Tex they expressed their opinion of Dirtyin concise and vitriolic language, not forgetting his parents; afterwhich they invited Tex to "sluice his gills." One of them, adelicate-featured, smooth-faced boy, added facetiously: "Don't beafraid; we won't eat you."
Tex released his left foot from the stirrup and slid to earth. "I wasn't afraid o' bein' et, exactly," was his slow response; "I was justa-wonderin' if it would bite. I notice it 's slipped its collar."
"Go to h--l! Th' lot o' you!" screeched Pop, bouncing to his feet withsurprising alacrity. "Wait till I buy th' nex' one o' you adrink--wait! That's all."
"Lord, Dirty, we _has_ been a-waitin'. Since Fall round-up, ain't it?"appealing to the others who gave instant, vigorous, and profaneendorsement.
"Pah!" exploded Pop. He faced about and executed a singular andsuperlatively indecent gesture with a nimbleness unexpected anddisgracefully grotesque in so old a man; and then without a backwardglance, he stamped off across the bridge to the I-Call. The otherswatched him in fascinated silence until he plumped down on hisinevitable box, when the smooth-faced first speaker turned to hisnearest neighbor and asked in hushed tones: "What do you think of him,Mike?"
"Fanny, me boy, if I thought I 'd ever conthract Dirty's partic'larbrand o' sinfulness, I 'd punch a hole in th' river--with me head," andhe solemnly led the way in to the bar.
"Gentlemen, it's on me," declared Tex, "--for good and special reasons,"he explained, when they began to expostulate. "Give me a large andgenerous glass," he requested of the barkeeper, "and fill it with 'Waterfor me, water for me, and whiskey for them which find it agree.' Yousee, gentlemen, liquor an' I don't team no better 'n a lamb an' acoyote. I must either love it or leave it alone an' I 'm dead set agin'spiritual marriage. Here 's how."
"If I 'd begun like that I 'd be a rich man this day," observed Mike,when his head resumed the perpendicular.
"If I 'd begun like that I would n't be here at all," responded Tex.
"Well, ye 'll have a cigar with me, anyhow. Putt a name to it, boys,an', Fred, whisper: Pass up that wee little box ye keep, in th' locker.Me friend, Comin', will take a good one, while he 's at it."
A blue-shirted miner next him interposed: "'T is my trate. He 'll hev acigar with me, he well. Das' thee thenk I be goin' to drenk with theearl the time, and thee never taake a drenk 'long o' me? Set un up,Fred, my son, and doan't forget the lettle box."
Tex gazed curiously at the speaker. It was his first meeting with aCornishman and Bill Tregloan was a character in more than speech.Wherever gold, or a rumor of gold, drew the feet of miner, there sooneror later would be Bill Tregloan. He had crossed the continent toCalifornia on foot and alone at a time when such an attempt was morethan dangerous. That he escaped the natural perils of the trip wassufficiently wonderful; as for the Indians, there is no doubt theythought him mad.
Bill had his way in paying for the order and turned to lounge againstthe bar when his eye caught sight of that which drew from him a torrentof sputtering oaths and a harsh command. The only one who had failed tojoin the others at the bar was Charley, the Cheyenne Indian. He laysprawled on the floor against the opposite wall, very drunk and asleep,and about to be subjected to one of the pleasing jokes of the railroadtowns, in this instance very crudely prepared. The oil with which hewas soaked, had been furnished far too plentifully, and he stood anexcellent chance of being well roasted when the match, then burning,should be applied.
The man holding the match looked up at the Cornishman's shout. He didnot understand the words but the meaning of the action that followed wasplain; and when the miner, growling like a bear, started to rush at him,his hand dropped to his gun with the speed of a hawk. Fanny promptlystuck out his foot. Tregloan went down with Fanny on top of him but ittakes more than one slight boy, whatever his strength, to hold down awrestling Cornishman. The flurry that followed, even with the addedweight of numbers, would have been funny but for the scowling face ofthe olive-skinned man who stood with ready gun until assured thestruggle had gone against his opponent. Then he slipped gun in holsterand felt for another match. "Take him away," he said, with a sneeringsmile, "he make me sick."
"What did they do that for?" asked Tex of Mike. Neither had moved duringthe excitement. The rest were pushing and pulling Tregloan out of thesaloon.
"That's Guinea Mike," was the explanation. "He 'd murder his mother ifshe crossed him. First fair chanst I mane to break his d--d back--an'if ye tell him so he 'll kill me on sight."
"Interestin' specimen," observed Tex. Guinea Mike found another matchand calmly lit it. Those not engaged in soothing Bill were looking inat the door and windows. Dutch Fred, behind the bar, was swearing goodAmerican oaths regarding the unjustified waste of his kerosene. Texstepped away from the bar. "Blow that out," he said, dispassionately.
Guinea Mike looked up with a snarl. The two stares met and grappled.Guinea slowly raised the match to his lips and puffed it out, flippingit from him with a snap of one finger so that it fell almost at the feetof Tex. They watched each other steadily. A solitary snore from theIndian sounded like the rumble of overhead thunder. Slowly the hand ofGuinea desc
ended from before his lips and in unison with it descendedthe head of Fred until his eyes just cleared the top of the bar.Guinea's hand rested in the sagging waist of his trousers, a second,two--
The roar of the explosion was deafening. Guinea Mike's right shoulderwent into retirement and his gun dropped from his nerveless fingers.Screaming with rage he stooped to grasp it with his left hand andpitched forward at full length, both knee-caps shattered, at the mercyof this stranger who shot as if at a mark.
The noise awakened Cheyenne Charley who opened his eyes and smiledfoolishly at the distorted face which had so unexpectedly reached hislevel. "D--n drunk," he observed, and immediately went to sleep again.
Tex walked over and kicked the gun across the floor. Irish Mike pickedit up and handed it to Fred. "I could a' killed you just as easy as Ididn't, Guinea," said Tex. "I don't like you an' yore ways. It's justa notion. So don't you stop. An' don't send any o' yore friends. 'NoGuineas need apply.' That goes, if I has to Garibaldi yore whole d--ncountry."
The spectators had filed back to the room and were engaged in audiblecomments on the justification and accuracy of the shooting, while theybusied themselves in the rough surgery which had to serve. To thesuggestion that he ought to be taken to the doctor at Wayback, Fredinterposed the objection: "No, dake him to Nell's. Mike is a friend mither."
Pop Snow, attracted by the excitement, stood peering in a window. TwinRiver crowded the room but Pop's resentment was still warm. A man rodeup and stooped from the saddle to look over his shoulder. "Who 's that?What's up?" he asked.
"'T aint nothin'; _only_ Guinea Mike. See th' feller Fanny 's hangin'onto? Well, that's him: Comin' Thirty has notions--an' I ain't neverseen better shootin'."
Dave swung down, tied his pony to the rail and went inside to see thenew bad-man of Twin River. It had been growing steadily colder duringthe past few hours; the wind, sweeping in from the west, held a sinisterthreat, the air a definite chill, and Dave felt he would be none theworse for a little fire-water. Dirty felt it also, but his senileannoyance had merely simmered down, not subsided, and he scurried backto the I-Call for cover until such time as he thought it fitting to gohome.
* * * * *
It was very late when Dave turned a tired pony to pasture and enteredthe three-room cabin of Karl Schatz. The rough exterior gave noindication of the comfort with which the German had surrounded himself.Fur rugs covered the floor of the living-room; the chairs and table hadtravelled many miles before landing here; a fine sideboard showedseveral pieces of fair china; mounted horns of various kinds were on thewalls, one group being utilized as a gun rack, and between them hungseveral good paintings. A stove had been removed but in its placesmouldered a wood fire, the fireplace jutting out from the wall. WhenDave came in Karl sat smoking; on the table beside him lay an openvolume of poems. "Vell?" he asked, as Dave dropped into a chair andstretched his legs wearily before him.
"Double Y has got a new bunch o' cattle. Hummers. Bought 'em out of adrove come up last Fall on Government contract; the Government went backon th' deal an' they was wintered up here. Got th' pick o' th' lot, Ihear." Dave fell into silence and stared at the fire. Karl puffedthoughtfully while he looked at the black head whose schemes seemedcoming to nought.
"Cameron 's got back," continued Dave; "he 's brought his money withhim; took up his note at the bank; paid full interest." Another pause,with no comment from Karl. Dave continued to display his items ofinformation in sections. "I met One-eye Harris at Eccles'.
"Th' Cyclone ranch has got some with th' itch. It 'll mean a lot o'work--an' then some.
"LaFrance wants to bleed you for two hundred. Don't you. He 'll get toorich to have me for a son-in-law."
Karl nodded his head. "Farming iss goot," he murmured, "--mit vasser."Dave glanced at him.
"Them new steers o' th' Double Y oughta fetch forty in th' Fall. Will,too."
"Farming iss goot," repeated Karl, "--mit vasser. Also, to lend money.But Camerons, dey pay und der money lies idle. Ven do ve eat up derDouble Y, Dave?"
Dave glanced at him sullenly. "Why don't you let me kill that d--nPeters? Are you afraid I 'll get hurt?"
"Alvays I fear. I haf no one bud you, _du Spitzbub_. But kill him?Ach! Soon anoder manager come. Killing iss not goot, Dave. You mustplan besser, _aber_ I do id. Dat make you feel sheep, _du SchwarzerSpitzbub, vas?_"
"I 'll get 'em. Guinea Mike 's shot up."
"Vell, he iss anoder von likes killing. Who vas id?"
"Stranger. Reminded me of a feller, somehow--an' then, again, he didn't. Deals a slick hand at cards."
"Ach, cards! Alvays der cards! Who know dem besser as me? Who pay fordem so much? Cards und killing, dey are no goot."
"Well, let's roost," suggested Dave, and led the way to the inner room.Karl fastened doors and windows, put out the light, and followed him.
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