The Two-Gun Man

by Seltzer, Charles Alden

  "You wouldn't listen at me at all, ma'am; you cert'nly wouldn't stay an' listen to any speeches that you thought was pretty, if you was married," he said. Plainly, he had not lost faith in the virtue of woman.

  "But if I did listen?" she questioned, her face crimson, though her eyes were still defiant.

  He regarded her with pleased eyes. "I've been lookin' for a weddin' ring," he said.

  She gave it up in confusion. "I don't know why I am talking this way to you," she said. "I expect it is because there isn't anything else to do. But you really are entertaining!" she declared, for a parting shot.

  Once Ferguson had seen a band of traveling minstrels in Cimarron. Their jokes (of an ancient vintage) had taken well with the audience, for the latter had laughed. Ferguson remembered that a stranger had said that the minstrels were "entertaining." And now he was entertaining her. A shadow passed over his face; he looked down at his foot, with its white bandage so much in evidence. Then straight at her, his eyes grave and steady.

  "I'm glad to have amused you, ma'am," he said. "An' now I reckon I'll be gettin' over to the Two Diamond. It can't be very far now."

  "Five miles," she said shortly. She had dropped her sewing into her lap and sat motionless, regarding him with level eyes.

  "Are you working for the Two Diamond?" she questioned.

  "Lookin' for a job," he returned.

  "Oh!" The exclamation struck him as rather expressionless. He looked at her.

  "Do you know the Two Diamond folks?"

  "Of course."

  "Of course," he repeated, aware of the constraint in her voice. "I ought to have known. They're neighbors of your'n."

  "They are not!" she suddenly flashed back at him.

  "Well, now," he returned slowly, puzzled, but knowing that somehow he was getting things wrong, "I reckon there's a lot that I don't know."

  "If you are going to work over at the Two Diamond," she said coldly, "you will know more than you do now. My--"

  Evidently she was about to say something more, but a sound caught her ear and she rose, dropping her sewing to the chair. "My brother is coming," she said quietly. Standing near the door she caught Ferguson's swift glance.

  "Then it ain't a husband after all," he said, pretending surprise.

  * * *

  A young man rode around the corner of the cabin and halted his pony beside the porch, sitting quietly in the saddle and gazing inquiringly at the two. He was about Ferguson's age and, like the latter, he wore two heavy guns. There was about him, as he sat there sweeping a slow glance over the girl and the man, a certain atmosphere of deliberate certainty and quiet coldness that gave an impression of readiness for whatever might occur.

  Ferguson's eyes lighted with satisfaction. The girl might be an Easterner, but the young man was plainly at home in this country. Nowhere, except in the West, could he have acquired the serene calm that shone out of his eyes; in no other part of the world could he have caught the easy assurance, the unstudied nonchalance, that seems the inherent birthright of the cowpuncher.

  "Ben," said the girl, answering the young man's glance, "this man was bitten by a rattler. He came here, and I treated him. He says he was on his way over to the Two Diamond, for a job."

  The young man opened his lips slightly. "Stafford hire you?" he asked.

  "I'm hopin' he does," returned Ferguson.

  The young man's lips drooped sneeringly. "I reckon you're wantin' a job mighty bad," he said.

  Ferguson smiled. "Takin' your talk, you an' Stafford ain't very good friends," he returned.

  The young man did not answer. He dismounted and led his pony to a small corral and then returned to the porch, carrying his saddle.

  For an instant after the young man had left the porch to turn his pony into the corral Ferguson had kept his seat on the porch. But something in the young man's tone had brought him out of the chair, determined to accept no more of his hospitality. If the young man was no friend of Stafford, it followed that he could not feel well disposed to a puncher who had avowed that his purpose was to work for the Two Diamond manager.

  Ferguson was on his feet, clinging to one of the slender porch posts, preparatory to stepping down to go to his pony, when the young woman came out. Her sharp exclamation halted him.

  "You're not going now!" she said. "You have got to remain perfectly quiet until morning!"

  The brother dropped his saddle to the porch floor, grinning mildly at Ferguson, "You don't need to be in a hurry," he said. "I was intending to run your horse into the corral. What I meant about Stafford don't apply to you." He looked up at his sister, still grinning. "I reckon he ain't got nothing to do with it?"

  The young woman blushed. "I hope not," she said in a low voice.

  "We're goin' to eat pretty soon," said the young man. "I reckon that rattler didn't take your appetite?"

  Ferguson flushed. "It was plum rediculous, me bein' hooked by a rattler," he said. "An' I've lived among them so long."

  "I reckon you let him get away?" questioned the young man evenly.

  "If he's got away," returned Ferguson, his lips straightening with satisfaction, "he's a right smart snake."

  He related the incident of the attack, ending with praises of the young woman's skill.

  The young man smiled at the reference to his sister. "She's studied medicine-back East. Lately she's turned her hand to writin'. Come out here to get experience-local color, she calls it."

  Ferguson sat back in his chair, quietly digesting this bit of information. Medicine and writing. What did she write? Love stories? Fairy tales? Romances? He had read several of these. Mostly they were absurd and impossible. Love stories, he thought, would be easy for her. For-he said, mentally estimating her-a woman ought to know more about love than a man. And as for anything being impossible in a love story. Why most anything could happen to people who are in love.

  "Supper is ready," he heard her announce from within.

  Ferguson preceded the young man at the tin wash basin, taking a fresh towel that the young woman offered him from the doorway. Then he followed the young man inside. The three took places at the table, and Ferguson was helped to a frugal, though wholesome meal.

  The dusk had begun to fall while they were yet at the table, and the young woman arose, lighting a kerosene lamp and placing it on the table. By the time they had finished semi-darkness had settled. Ferguson followed the young man out to the chairs on the porch for a smoke.

  They were scarcely seated when there was a clatter of hoofs, and a pony and rider came out of the shadow of the nearby cottonwood, approaching the cabin and halting beside the porch. The newcomer was a man of about thirty-five. The light of the kerosene lamp shone fairly in his face as he sat in the saddle, showing a pair of cold, steady eyes and thin, straight lips that were wreathed in a smile.

  "I thought I'd ride over for a smoke an' a talk before goin' down the crick to where the outfit's workin'," he said to the young man. And now his eyes swept Ferguson's lank figure with a searching glance. "But I didn't know you was havin' company," he added. The second glance that he threw toward Ferguson was not friendly.

  Ferguson's lips curled slightly under it. Each man had been measured by the other, and neither had found in the other anything to admire.

  Ferguson's thoughts went rapidly back to Dry Bottom. He saw a man in the street, putting five bullets through a can that he had thrown into the air. He saw again the man's face as he had completed his exhibition-insolent, filled with a sneering triumph. He heard again this man's voice, as he himself had offered to eclipse his feat:-

  "You runnin' sheep, stranger?"

  The voice and face of the man who stood before him now were the voice and face of the man who had preceded him in the shooting match in Dry Bottom. His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his host, explaining his presence.

  "This here man was bit by a rattler this afternoon," the young man was saying. "He's layin' up here for to-night. Says he's reckonin'
on gettin' a job over at the Two Diamond."

  The man on the horse sneered. "Hell!" he said; "bit by a rattler!" He laughed insolently, pulling his pony's head around. "I reckon I'll be goin'," he said. "You'll nurse him so's he won't die?" He had struck the pony's flanks with the spurs and was gone into the shadows before either man on the porch could move. There was a short silence, while the two men listened to the beat of his pony's hoofs. Then Ferguson turned and spoke to the young man.

  "You know him?" he questioned.

  The young man smiled coldly. "Yep," he said; "he's range boss for the Two Diamond!"

  * * *

  The sun was still a shimmering white blur in the great arc of sky when Ferguson rode around the corner of the cabin in Bear Flat, halted his pony, and sat quietly in the saddle before the door. His rapid eye had already swept the horse corral, the sheds, and the stable. If the horseman that he had seen riding along the ridge had been Radford he would not arrive for quite a little while. Meantime, he would learn from Miss Radford what direction the young man had taken on leaving the cabin.

  Ferguson was beginning to take an interest in this game. At the outset he had come prepared to carry out his contract. In his code of ethics it was not a crime to shoot a rustler. Experience had taught him that justice was to be secured only through drastic action. In the criminal category of the West the rustler took a place beside the horse thief and the man who shot from behind.

  But before taking any action Ferguson must be convinced of the guilt of the man he was hunting, and nothing had yet occurred that would lead him to suspect Radford. He did not speculate on what course he would take should circumstances prove Radford to be the thief. Would the fact that he was Mary Radford's brother affect his decision? He preferred to answer that question when the time came-if it ever came. One thing was certain; he was not shooting anyone unless the provocation was great.

  His voice was purposely loud when he called "Whoa, Mustard!" to his pony, but his eyes were not purposely bright and expectant as they tried to penetrate the semi-darkness of the interior of the cabin for a glimpse of Miss Radford.

  He heard a movement presently, and she was at the door looking at him, her hands folded in her apron, her eyes wide with unmistakable pleasure.

  "Why, I never expected to see you again!" she exclaimed.

  She came out and stood near the edge of the porch, making a determined attempt to subdue the flutter of excitement that was revealed in a pair of very bright eyes and a tinge of deep color in her cheeks.

  "Then I reckon you thought I had died, or stampeded out of this country?" he answered, grinning. "I told you I'd be comin' back here."

  But the first surprise was over, and she very properly retired to the shelter of a demurely polite reserve.

  "So you did!" she made reply. "You told me you were comin' over to see my brother. But he is not here now."

  Had he been less wise he would have reminded her that it had been she who had told him that he might come to see her brother. But to reply thus would have discomfited her and perhaps have brought a sharp reply. He had no doubt that some of the other Two Diamond men had made similar mistakes, but not he. He smiled broadly. "Mebbe I did," he said; "sometimes I'm mighty careless in handlin' the truth. Mebbe I thought then that I'd come over to see your brother. But we have different thoughts at different times. You say your brother ain't here now?"

  "He left early this morning to go down the river," she informed him. "He said he would be back before sun-down."

  His eyes narrowed perceptibly. "Down" the river meant that Radford's trail led in the general direction of the spot where he had seen the fleeing horseman and the dead Two Diamond cow with her orphaned calf. Yet this proved nothing. Radford might easily have been miles away when the deed had been done. For the present there was nothing he could do, except to wait until Radford returned, to form whatever conclusions he might from the young man's appearance when he should find a Two Diamond man at the cabin. But anxiety to see the brother was not the only reason that would keep him waiting.

  He removed his hat and sat regarding it with a speculative eye. Miss Radford smiled knowingly.

  "I expect I have been scarcely polite," she said. "Won't you get off your horse?"

  "Why, yes," he responded, obeying promptly; "I expect Mustard's been doin' a lot of wonderin' why I didn't get off before."

  If he had meant to imply that her invitation had been tardy he had hit the mark fairly, for Miss Radford nibbled her lips with suppressed mirth. The underplay of meaning was not the only subtleness of the speech, for the tone in which it had been uttered was rich in interrogation, as though its author, while realizing the pony's dimness of perception, half believed the animal had noticed Miss Radford's lapse of hospitality.

  "I'm thinkin' you are laughin' at me again, ma'am," he said as he came to the edge of the porch and stood looking up at her, grinning.

  "Do you think I am laughing?" she questioned, again biting her lips to keep them from twitching.

  "No-o. I wouldn't say that you was laughin' with your lips-laughin' regular. But there's a heap of it inside of you-tryin' to get out."

  "Don't you ever laugh inwardly?" she questioned.

  He laughed frankly. "I expect there's times when I do."

  "But you haven't lately?"

  "Well, no, I reckon not."

  "Not even when you thought your horse might have noticed that I had neglected to invite you off?"

  "Did I think that?" he questioned.

  "Of course you did."

  "Well, now," he drawled. "An' so you took that much interest in what I was thinkin'! I reckon people who write must know a lot."

  Her face expressed absolute surprise. "Why, who told you that I wrote?" she questioned.

  "Nobody told me, ma'am. I just heard it. I heard a man tell another man that you had threatened to make him a character in a book you was writin'."

  Her face was suddenly convulsed. "I imagine I know whom you mean," she said. "A young cowboy from the Two Diamond used to annoy me quite a little, until one day I discouraged him."

  His smile grew broad at this answer. But he grew serious instantly.

  "I don't think there is much to write about in this country, ma'am," he said.

  "You don't? Why, I believe you are trying to discourage me!"

  "I reckon you won't listen to me, ma'am, if you want to write. I've heard that anyone who writes is a special kind of a person an' they just can't help writin'-any more'n I can help comin' over here to see your brother. You see, they like it a heap."

  They both laughed, she because of the clever way in which he had turned the conversation to his advantage; he through sheer delight. But she did purpose to allow him to dwell on the point he had raised, so she adroitly took up the thread where he had broken off to apply his similitude.

  "Some of that is true," she returned, giving him a look on her own account; "especially about a writer loving his work. But I don't think one needs to be a 'special' kind of person. One must be merely a keen observer."

  He shook his head doubtfully. "I see everything that goes on around me," he returned. "Most of the time I can tell pretty near what sort a man is by lookin' at his face and watching the way he moves. But I reckon I'd never make a writer. Times when I look at this country-at a nice sunset, for instance, or think what a big place this country is-I feel like sayin' somethin' about it; somethin' inside of me seems kind of breathless-like-kind of scarin' me. But I couldn't write about it."

  She had felt it, too, and more than once had sat down with her pencil to transcribe her thoughts. She thought that it was not exactly fear, but an overpowering realization of her own atomity; a sort of cringing of the soul away from the utter vastness of the world; a growing consciousness of the unlimited bigness of things; an insight of the infinite power of God-the yearning of the soul for understanding of the mysteries of life and existence.

  She could sympathize with him, for she knew exactly how he had felt.
She turned and looked toward the distant mountains, behind which the sun was just then swimming-a great ball of shimmering gold, which threw off an effulgent expanse of yellow light that was slowly turning into saffron and violet as it met the shadows below the hills.

  "Whoever saw such colors?" she asked suddenly, her face transfixed with sheer delight.

  "It's cert'nly pretty, ma'am."

  She clapped her hands. "It is magnificent!" she declared enthusiastically. She came closer to him and stretched an arm toward the mountains. "Look at that saffron shade which is just now blending with the streak of pearl striking the cleft between those hills! See the violet tinge that has come into that sea of orange, and the purple haze touching the snow-caps of the mountains. And now the flaming red, the deep yellow, the slate blue; and now that gauzy veil of lilac, rose, and amethyst, fading and dulling as the darker shadows rise from the valleys!"

  Her flashing eyes sought Ferguson's. Twilight had suddenly come.

  "It is the most beautiful country in the world!" she said positively.

  He was regarding her with gravely humorous eyes. "It cert'nly is pretty, ma'am," he returned. "But you can't make a whole book out of one sunset."

  Her eyes flashed. "No," she returned. "Nor can I make a whole book out of only one character. But I am going to try and draw a word picture of the West by writing of the things that I see. And I am going to try and have some real characters in it. I shall try to have them talk and act naturally."

  She smiled suddenly and looked at him with a significant expression. "And the hero will not be an Easterner-to swagger through the pages of the book, scaring people into submission through the force of his compelling personality. He will be a cowboy who will do things after the manner of the country-a real, unaffected care-free puncher!"

  "Have you got your eye on such a man?" he asked, assuring himself that he knew of no man who would fill the requirements she had named.

  "I don't mind telling you that I have," she returned, looking straight at him.

  It suddenly burst upon him. His face crimsoned. He felt like bolting. But he managed to grin, though she could see that the grin was forced.