CHAPTER XXXVIII
BEAR CAT ASLEEP
Bear Cat basked in the mellow warmth of Indian summer. Peace brooded overthe valley, a slumberous and placid drowsiness. Outside Platt & Fortner'sstore big freight wagons stood close to the sidewalk. They had just comein from their long overland journey and had not yet been unloaded. AConcord stage went its dusty way down the street headed for Newcastle.Otherwise there was little evidence of activity.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning. The saloons and gambling-houseswere almost deserted. The brisk business of the night had died down. Evena poker player and a faro dealer must sleep.
Main Street was in a coma. A dog lazily poked a none too inquisitive noseinto its epidermis in a languid search for fleas. Past the dog went abarefoot urchin into a store for two pounds of eight-penny nails.
Three horsemen appeared at the end of the street and moved down it at thejog-trot which is the road gait of the cowpuncher. They dismounted nearthe back door of Platt & Fortner's and flung the bridle reins over thewheel spokes of the big freight wagons with the high sides. They did nottie the reins even in slip knots.
The riders stood for a moment talking in low voices before theyseparated. One went into Dolan's. He was a good-looking young fellowabout twenty. A second wandered into the hotel saloon. He was notgood-looking and was twice twenty. The third strolled past the bank,glanced in, turned, and walked past it a second time. He straddled, withjingling spurs, into the big store.
Tom Platt nodded casually to him. "Anything I can do for you, Houck?"
"I reckon," Houck grunted.
Platt noticed that he limped slightly. He had no feeling of friendlinesstoward Houck, but common civility made him inquire how the wounded legwas doing. After the Indian campaign the Brown's Park man had gone toMeeker for his convalescence. That had been two months since.
"'S all right," growled the big fellow.
"Good. Thought you kinda favored it a little when you walked."
The Brown's Park man bought a plug of chewing tobacco and a shirt.
"Guess the soldiers got the Utes corralled all right by this time. Hearanything new about that?" Platt asked by way of making conversation.
"No," Houck replied shortly. "Got an empty gunnysack I could have?"
"Sure." The storekeeper found one and a string with which to tie it.
"I'll take a slab of side meat an' a pound of ground coffee," the big mangrowled.
He made other purchases,--flour, corn meal, beans, and canned tomatoes.These he put in the gunnysack, tying the open end. Out of the side doorhe went to the horses standing by the big freight wagons. The contents ofthe sack he transferred to saddle-bags.
Then, without any apparent doubt as to what he was going to do next, hedropped into another store, one which specialized in guns and ammunition,though it, too, sold general supplies. He bought cartridges, both for thetwo forty-fives and for the rifle he carried. These he actually tested inhis weapons, to make sure they fitted easily.
The proprietor attempted a pleasantry. "You're kinda garnished withweapons, stranger. Not aimin' to hold up the town, are you?"
The amiable laugh died away. The wall-eyed stranger was looking at him inbleak silence. Not an especially timid man, the owner of the place felt achill run down his spine. That stare carried defiance, an unvoicedthreat. Later, the storekeeper made of it a stock part of his story ofthe day's events.
"When the stranger gave me that look of his I knew right away somethingwas doing. 'Course I didn't know what. I'll not claim I did, but I wassure there'd be a job for the coroner before night. Blister come into thestore just after he left. I said to him, 'Who's that big black guy?' Hesays, 'Jake Houck.' 'Well,' I says, 'Jake Houck is sure up to somedeviltry.'"
It is easy to be a prophet after the event. When Houck jingled out of thestore and along the sidewalk to the hotel, none of the peaceful citizenshe met guessed what he had in mind. None of them saw the signal whichpassed between him and the young fellow who had just come out of Dolan's.This was not a gesture. No words were spoken, but a message went from oneto the other and back. The young puncher disappeared again into Dolan's.
Afterward, when Bear Cat began to assemble its recollections of theevents prior to the dramatic climax, it was surprising how little thatwas authentic could be recalled. Probably a score of people notedcasually the three strangers. Houck was recognized by three or four,Bandy Walker by at least one. The six-foot youngster with them was knownby nobody who saw him. It was learned later that he had never been in thetown before. The accounts of how the three spent the hour between ten andeleven are confusing. If they met during that time it was only for amoment or two while passing. But it is certain that Bandy Walker couldnot have been both in the blacksmith shop and at Platt & Fortner's fiveminutes before eleven. The chances are that some of the town people,anxious to have even a small part in the drama, mixed in their mindsthese strangers with others who had ridden in.
Bob Dillon and Dud Hollister dropped from their saddles in front of thehotel at just eleven o'clock. They had ridden thirty miles and stood fora moment stretching the cramp out of their muscles.
Dud spoke, nodding his head to the right. "Look what's here, Sure-Shot.Yore friend Bandy--old, tried, an' true."
Walker was trailing his high-heeled boots through the dust across thestreet from Dolan's toward the big store. If he saw Bob he gave no signof knowing him.
The two friends passed into the hotel. They performed the usual rites ofinternal and external ablutions. They returned to the bar, hooked theirheels, and swapped with Mike the news of the day.
"Hear Larson's bought the K T brand. Anything to it?" asked Dud.
"Paid seven thousand down, time on the balance," Mike said. "How you ladsmakin' it on Elk?"
"Fine. We got the best preemptions on the river. Plenty of good grass,wood an' water handy, a first-class summer range. It's an A1 layout,looks like."
"At the end of nowhere, I reckon," Mike grinned.
"The best steers are on the edge of the herd," Dud retorted cheerfully."It's that way with ranches too. A fellow couldn't raise much of a herdin Denver, could he?"
A sound like the explosion of a distant firecracker reached them. It wasfollowed by a second.
It is strange what a difference there is between the report of one shotand another. A riotous cowpuncher bangs away into the air to stress thefact that he is a live one on the howl. Nobody pays the least attention.A bullet flies from a revolver barrel winged with death. Men at theroulette wheel straighten up to listen. The poker game is automaticallysuspended, a hand half dealt. By some kind of telepathy the players knowthat explosion carries deadly menace.
So now the conversation died. No other sound came, but the two cattlemenand the bartender were keyed to tense alertness. They had sloughedinstantly the easy indolence of casual talk.
There came the slap of running footsteps on the sidewalk. A voice calledin excitement, "They've killed Ferril."
The eyes of the Elk Creek ranchers met. They knew now what was takingplace. Ferril was cashier of the Bear Cat bank.
The Fighting Edge Page 38