by Max Brand
“You’ve said a mouthful, pal,” observed Lefty Gruger.
His little eyes twinkled with thought for a moment. Then he sat up and hailed a freckle-faced youngster passing the veranda.
“Son,” he said, “will you go find Andrew Lanning for me and tell him there’s a man waiting for him at the hotel.”
He followed the request with the bright arc of a quarter that spun into the clutching hand of the boy. The latter stared at the generous stranger for a moment, then dug his bare toes inches deep in the dust and gave himself a flying start down the street. Lefty Gruger watched him thoughtfully. An idea had come to him that he considered, for its simplicity and its effectiveness, to be the equal of any he had ever had in his entire criminal career. A glow of satisfaction with himself spread through him. It was a conclusive proof that the enforced idleness of his career in the prison had not dulled his wits a particle.
Presently he eluded a question of Si Hulan, slipped out of his chair, and began to walk up and down in front of the veranda, gradually increasing his distance until he was out of earshot of the men on the verandah—out of earshot as long as only a conversational tone was used. This was the strategic point that he wished to attain, and when the voices on the veranda had faded to a blur behind him, he halted, settled his hat more firmly to shade his eyes, and waited, cursing the dazzling flare of the sunlight from the dust of the street.
He had hardly reached this position when he saw his quarry coming. He knew the man as well as if a herald had gone before, announcing that this was Andrew Lanning. The bold, free step, the well-poised head, and something, moreover, of hair-trigger alertness about the man convinced him that this was the gunfighter; this was certainly the man of action.
Lefty slipped his hand into his coat pocket and ran the tips of his fingers lovingly over the familiar outlines of the automatic. He withdrew his hand, bringing out a cigarette box, and took out and lighted his smoke with his usual speed. He had snapped the match away, and it was fuming in the dust when Andrew Lanning came close.
Lefty surveyed him with a practiced eye. The promise from the distance was more than borne out in the details that he observed at close hand. Here was a man among many men. Here was a foeman worthy, almost, of his own steel. A sort of honest enthusiasm welled up in the heart of Lefty Gruger, just as the boxer feels a savage joy when his own first blow of the battle is deftly blocked, and a jarring return thuds home against head and breast. Lefty Gruger measured his enemy and felt that the battle might well be close.
“You’re Lanning,” he said smilingly, and held out his stubby hand.
It was very essential that he should be seen by the veranda crowd to greet Andrew Lanning amiably. He could not resist the temptation, however, and allowed some of his bull strength to go into the grip. There was an amazing reaction. His own bulky hand had hardly begun to tighten before the lithe, long fingers of Andrew curled up and became so many bands of contracting steel, cutting into flesh and grinding sinews against bone. It was only a moment. Then their hands fell apart, and Lefty Gruger felt the life slowly return to his numbed muscles.
He maintained his smile for the benefit of those on the veranda. Then he shifted his position as to bring Andrew facing the veranda, while he kept his own back turned.
“I’m Gruger,” he said, continuing the introduction. “I’ve dropped out here on a little piece of business with you. A sort of private business, Lanning. I didn’t know how to tackle it, but I got a couple of hints from the birds on the veranda. They sure love you a lot in this burg, Lanning.”
“They seem to,” said Andy coldly. “What did they tell you about me?”
“Not much, but enough. Tipped me that you were a gunfighter and a fire-eater and that they were just sitting around waiting for you to bust loose, which played right into my hand. Gives me a chance to do what I want to do, right in public. It’s about the first time that I’ve ever had an audience. And say, bo, I sure love applause.”
“I don’t understand,” said Andrew, falling back a pace, the better to study the half-grinning, half-ugly face of Gruger.
“Why, kid,” continued Lefty, “I’ve come out here to bump you off, and I find that I can do the job and get a vote of thanks and my traveling expenses out of the town. That’s easy, ain’t it?”
Andrew blinked. It seemed that the chunky stranger must be either mad or jesting.
“I’m talking straight,” said Lefty, dropping his voice to an ominous purr. “Kid, go for your gat. I’ve showed the folks that I’ve met you peaceable and all that. Now you got to go for your gat, and I’ll do my best to drop you.”
“I understand,” said Andrew huskily. “They worked up the job, eh? Found a man killer to fit my case and now … but it won’t work, Gruger. I’ve made up my mind to see this thing through. I’m going to live without gunfights. One gunfight is ruin for me. One more gunfight makes me what you are.”
“You lie!” said Lefty, letting his voice ring out suddenly. “I tell you, you lie!” He added in a murmur: “Now get the gun, you fool. Get the gun, or I’ll shame you, so you won’t be able to show your face around this town again as long as you live.”
The voices on the veranda had ceased. Men had scattered to shelter. From shelter they watched and listened. If someone had offered $5 for the life of the stranger, the offer would have been received with ardent laughter. But still there was no gunplay, even after Andy Lanning had been given the lie. They could see, also, that his face was white.
“It doesn’t work,” he was saying huskily. “Gruger, I won’t fight.”
“Take this then!” said Lefty, and his sturdy arm flicked out. The clap of his open hand against the face of Lanning was plainly audible to the listeners and the watchers, and their muscles tightened against the coming report of the guns.
But a miracle happened. While Lefty shot his hand back into his pocket and twitched up the muzzle of his automatic, prepared to send out that spurt of fire and lead with the touch of his forefinger, the hand of Andy Lanning had darted down to the butt of his gun and stayed there. He maintained the struggle for an instant, fighting bitterly against himself, and then he conquered. He turned on his heel and strode back down the street, his cheek tingling where the fingers of Lefty had struck him.
Lefty went back to the hotel as one stunned. He was greeted with a clamor of frank awe and applause.
“By heaven,” said Si Hulan, “they all got a yaller streak, all these gunfighters, and it took this nervy little bulldog to bring it out. Son, come up to my room. I got a bottle to set out for you pronto, best in the land.”
Lefty Gruger accompanied him thoughtfully, saying not a word
IX
Dazed, sick with longing to turn back and find the man again, Andy Lanning fought his way home. All the wolf that Scottie had wakened in him the night before came back to him with redoubled force.
He hurried to the shop, and there he frantically smashed a big bar of iron into useless shapes with the blows of a twelve-pound sledge. All his rage went into that labor. When it was ended, he was weak, but his spirit was quieter, and he dragged himself slowly toward his home. He passed the open door of the rival smith’s shop and saw his competitor leaning there, filling a pipe at the end of a prosperous day. At sight of Andy, he nodded carelessly, and Andy suspected that the sudden frown with which the big, sooty fellow looked down at his fuming pipe was for the purpose of veiling a smile.
No doubt he had heard of the disgrace of Andrew Lanning earlier in the day. Now that he had once been braved, others would probably try it. How long could he endure? How long?
He was trembling with the mental struggle when he reached his shack and flung himself down on his bunk, his head in his hands. How long he remained there he could not tell, fighting always against that terrific impulse to rise and hunt out his persecutor. But, when a hand touched his shoulder, he lifted himself to a sitting posture. It was so dark that he could barely make out the face of Scottie.
�
��I’ve heard,” said Scottie, “and I’ve understood. But is it worth the gaff, Andy?”
The words fell like a blessing on Lanning. Scottie was more or less of a gentleman in training, more or less educated. His trained mind had understood. But how many more would?
“The rest of ’em,” said Scottie, “are saying that you’ve showed yellow … the fools.”
“La Roche and Clune are saying that?” asked Andrew, rising.
“They? Of course not! They saw you go down to face Hal Dozier. I mean the rest of the town. They’re laughing at you, Andy, and you’re a butt and a joke among ’em. Now, partner, the time has come. Sally is ready and waiting outside. Come on with me, Andy. The best of it is that our first job, after you come to us, is in this town, this night. They’ll curse themselves before the morning comes for having turned down Andrew Lanning.”
Andy went hastily to the door. Sally, from the shed, saw the outline of his form and neighed very softly.
“Ah, Sally girl,” exclaimed poor Andy, “are you asking me to go, too?”
“Because you’d be a fool not to go. It’s fate, Andy. You can’t get away from that.”
A child’s voice began singing down the street, a shrill, sweet, eager voice, breaking and trembling on the high notes. Little Judy was coming, singing “Annie Laurie” with all her heart.
“Hush,” said Andy, and raised his hand.
The outlaw remained silent, frowning in the gloom of the twilight. He knew that that child’s song was fighting against him and saving Andy from temptation. The voice passed and died away down the street.
“No,” declared Andy at last. “I thank you for trusting me and asking me to lead you, Scottie, but I can’t go.”
“If it’s for that girl,” broke out Scottie, “I can tell you that she’ll never think of …”
“That’ll hold you now,” said Andy warningly. “Leave her out of it.”
“Lanning,” began Scottie again, “if I go back without you, the boys will call me …”
“A fool,” said Andy, “and maybe you are. Besides, you’re a good deal of a snake, Scottie. I trusted you once, and you tried to get me. You’ll have no second chance. No matter how I throw in, if I leave Martindale with every man’s hand against me, I won’t throw in with you and the rest of ’em. You played me dirt once, and I know well you would do it again in a pinch. Now get out.”
Scottie, after hesitating through one moment of savage silence, turned and went.
Left to the darkness, Andy sank down on his bunk, his head between his hands. He had cut loose, it seemed, from every anchor. He had severed connections with the very outlaws who might have been his port of last refuge. Having already alienated the men of Martindale, he had also sacrificed the one thing that should have remained to him when all else was gone, his pride.
X
Scottie went hastily through the dark and, rounding the corner of Sally’s shed, found two figures drawn back so as to melt into the shadow under the projecting roof.
“Well?”
“Missed, curse him,” said Scottie.
A soft volley of invectives answered him.
“I knew you would,” said the hard, nasal voice of Larry la Roche. “Stubborn as rock once he’s made up his mind.”
“You know a pile after a thing’s done,” declared Clune.
“Shut up,” commanded Scottie. “The thing’s settled. No fighting about it.”
“But what’ll we do for the fourth man? That’s a four-man job we got on hand,” declared Larry la Roche. “The fourth man, that’s the first thing we got to get.”
“The first thing is to get back at Lanning,” said Scottie venomously. “He called us a lot of treacherous snakes. He cursed you, Larry la Roche. He said he might come back and lead us if it weren’t for your ugly face. He says he hates the thought of you. I told him if he didn’t want you, we didn’t want him.”
“Did he say that?” demanded la Roche, his tall body swaying back and forth in an ecstasy of repressed rage.
“And he said Clune was a cowardly fox, not worth having.”
“I’ll cut his throat to stop his gabble,” declared Clune. “How come you to stand for such talk?”
“Because I’m not a gunfighter,” said Scottie, writhing as he remembered the remarks that Andy had leveled at him in person. “But let’s forget Andy for a while and think about the job. We’ll get Lanning later on.”
“Do we have to have four men?”
“One to watch in front, one behind, two inside. Yep, we have to have four. Who’ll the fourth man be?”
“It just pops into my head,” said Scottie thoughtfully, “that the fellow who bluffed out Lanning today might be our man.”
“Did you see him?”
“Just from a distance. I’m not advertising my face around town. But he looks like a tough mug. He’s at the hotel. Suppose we nab him.”
“In the hotel?”
“No, you fool. Am I going to walk through the hotel and take a chance on being recognized?”
“Then where’ll we find him?”
“If he tried to get Lanning once, he’ll try again. Maybe he’s simply been waiting for the dark. I’ll wait down the street and stop him on the way. You stay here.”
They obeyed, and Scottie turned the corner of the shed and sauntered around to the front of the shack, taking his position leaning against a hitching post, a little distance down the street from the hotel.
His reasoning about Lefty had been simple enough, and being simple, it was also justified. He had not been waiting in the place for twenty minutes when he saw a burly, little figure come swaying through the twilight with short, choppy steps. Scottie stopped him with a soft hiss as he passed.
“One minute, partner.”
“Eh?”
“Gruger,” he said, “my name’s Scottie. I know where you’re going, and I’m here to stop you.”
“Oh,” murmured Lefty Gruger. “You think you’ll stop me?”
“Because I hate to see a good man wasted. Gruger, he’ll kill you if you force him to make a gunplay.”
“Say,” asked Lefty, stepping close, “who are you, and what makes you think I’m going to force a gunplay on anybody? Where do you come in?”
“By needing you for another job that’ll pay more.”
“Hmm,” said Lefty Gruger, peering through the shadows, apparently more or less satisfied by what he saw.
“I’ll undertake,” said Scottie, “to prove that Lanning is a better man than you are with a gun. And then I’ll prove that my job is worth more than the Lanning job.”
“And suppose all this chatter meant something … suppose I was really after Lanning … how would doing your job help me to get rid of Lanning?”
“I have an idea,” said Scottie smoothly, “of a way we can ruin Lanning with my job.”
“Pal,” said Lefty, after an instant of thought, “I like the sound of your talk. Start in by showing me how good Lanning is with a gat.”
“Follow me,” said Scottie.
He led the redoubtable Lefty Gruger around behind the shed and presently introduced him with a wave of the hand to Clune and Larry la Roche. Scottie then asked Lefty to accompany the trio over the hill and into the valley beyond. Lefty followed willingly enough, for there was sufficient mystery about this proceeding to attract him. They halted a full mile away in a broad, moonlit ravine, paved with pale-gray stones that gave the valley the brightness of twilight.
“Now,” said Scottie to Larry la Roche, “I want you to get out your gun, Larry, and do a little shooting for us. You’re the best of us with a gun.”
“Thanks,” replied Larry la Roche, “but I guess that don’t make Clune none too happy. But what’s there to shoot at? I’m willing.”
“I’ll give him a mark,” suggested Lefty Gruger. He bent, picked up a piece of quartz, and shied it carelessly into the air. “Hit that.”
As he spoke the gun came into the hand of Larry, and the glitter
of the falling quartz went out as though it had fallen out of the moonshine into shadow. Lefty Gruger remained staring where the quartz had last been seen, flashing dimly down through the air.
This was marksmanship indeed. But Lefty was not yet convinced. As a snap shot, he was a rare man himself.
“Turn your back,” he said to Larry huskily, almost angrily.
Larry shoved the weapon back in the holster and obediently turned his back.
Lefty picked up a smaller rock and threw it high in the air. Not until it had reached the crest of its rise and was beginning its glinting descent did he call: “Now nail her!”
Larry la Roche whirled, the gun conjured mysteriously into his hand before his long body was halfway writhed around. His eye wandered, and the muzzle of his gun wandered, also, as he searched for the target. Then he fired. The rock glanced down again and was dropping into the shadow of a boulder when Larry fired the second time, and the little rock puffed into dust, white and glittering with crystals in the moonlight.
“All right,” said Larry. “That was a hard one. What next?”
“What next?” asked Lefty Gruger. He passed his finger beneath his stiff collar, as if to make his breathing easier. “There ain’t any more.”
He continued to stare at Larry la Roche for a moment and then suddenly approached and held out his hand. He wrung the long fingers of Larry.
“Pal,” he said, “I’ve seen shooting, and I’ve done some, but you got me beat.”
It was the hardest speech that Lefty Gruger had ever compelled himself to make, but there was a basic honesty in the bottom of the soul of the killer, and it rang in his voice. He made a secret reservation, however, that shooting at a falling rock was far different from shooting at a human target. The latter might strike back at unknown speed. But it was not only the exquisite nicety of the marksmanship that stirred him. It was the careless grace with which the heavy gun had slipped into the bony fingers of the tall man; it was that lightning speed of mind that, having missed his elusive target once, enabled him to readjust to a new direction and fire again in the split part of a second later. The bullets had followed one second later, almost as swiftly as though they had spat from the muzzle of his automatic, and each had been a placed shot. No wonder that Lefty Gruger stepped back with a chilly feeling of awe descending upon him.