by Max Brand
Chuck balled his huge fist, and then the fingers loosely relaxed. “I dunno. He’s one of these here hypnotists, I guess,” he said.
“Do you think he’ll be able under any circumstances to hypnotize my gun, Chuck?”
Harper looked earnestly at his chief, and he seemed to be making a comparison that could not be decided in one glance, but rather he had to sum up many details in order to get at the crux of the matter. Finally he said: “You know your own business, chief. Nobody ever has downed you, but if I was you, I’d never tackle this here gent alone.”
“Is he as dangerous as all that?” asked Tankerton lightly. Although there was lightness in his tone, there was sinister care in his heart. The rumor of the greatness and the power of this stranger bulked larger in his mind for the very reason that the man was unknown to him.
“I’ve seen him do things,” said Chuck, unwilling to admit that his chief could be surpassed by any human creature. He stared at the lean, handsome face of Tankerton. That of Carrick Dunmore was handsome likewise, but much fuller, with rather a sleek look. Both of them were smiling faces, but the smile of Tankerton was that of superior intelligence, or assured mastery of men, whereas that of Dunmore was the smile of one engaged in a pleasant game, who knows some secret that may presently make all that an enemy does appear absurd. Each had a wonderfully steady eye, but the steadiness of Tankerton was the steadiness of a vast and self-conscious will, whereas the strength of Dunmore’s glance was that of one who reads a very entertaining page. Finally the regard of the hotelkeeper rested upon the towering, swelling forehead of his master, and that convinced him.
“Somehow you’ll be able to handle him,” he said doggedly. “I guess you’ll be able to do that. But I’ve seen Tucker and Legges turned into pulp by him. He ain’t no common man . . . that’s sure.”
That bitter conclusion the chief was willing to agree with. “Doctor Legges,” said Tankerton, “also advised me to bring down some of my best men and attack our friend Dunmore.”
“Doctor Legges is a gent with good sense,” said Chuck.
“But,” said Tankerton, “I want you to understand, Chuck, that I never have avoided single men who cross my way, and I don’t want to form the habit of an old man, while I still can walk without the aid of a crutch.”
Chuck blinked and nodded.
“This fellow is a lazy sort of a chap, as I understand it, who can lie in the sun and be perfectly happy.”
“He can. For a whole half day,” said Chuck.
“Also, he can go out and walk fifty miles across this sort of country?” inquired Tankerton.
“He started out the other morning and come back by evenin’ light, and he brung with him some twigs of red willow, and, if that there grows any nearer than Center Creek, I’m a liar, chief. That’s all I know about it.”
“He carries his guns with him, too, and shoots small game with a revolver?”
“Aye, he do.”
“What else has he been doing lately that’s of interest?” asked Tankerton.
“Why, nothin’. I don’t think they’s anything in his head, except he wants to sit yonder in my hotel and get you, when you come for him. He’s too lazy to start a regular hunt for you, but he wants the blood money that’s on you. That’s my way of writin’ this here story.”
“Ah, well,” said Tankerton, “a good many men might be tempted by ten thousand dollars, and a great reputation along with it. You must admit that, Chuck.”
The little pig eyes of Chuck gleamed. But then he looked into the face of his master again, and his glance was abased.
“Now, then,” said Tankerton, “I want to know the details of the last few days. Tucker has come in at last, and he and Legges together have told me the first part of the tale.”
“He’s been as usual. Lie around one day. Go off trampin’ the next. Then fiddle around a good deal. Go and set and yap with some of the folks up and down the street. Went to the blacksmith shop and got an old plowshare, for instance, and brung it home.”
“What did he want with that?”
“That’s what I asked him.”
“What did he say?”
“He says that it makes the boss mud scraper of the world. That’s what he says. What does he want with a mud scraper?”
“Did he put it up?”
“No. No sign of him doin’ that.”
“That’s rather strange, then.”
“I dunno that it is,” said Chuck. “Ma thinks it’s strange, too. I dunno why. He’s jus’ one of them lazy, shiftless kind. Gets an idea, and then goes to sleep and forgets about it. But what for would he want to make a mud scraper for my hotel? He ain’t showed any signs of doin’ anything else for me. He sure ain’t paid his bill yet. But when the first of the month comes, I’m gonna have it, if I gotta take it out of his hide by burnin’ down the hotel to scorch him till he melts . . . the skunk!” He roared with his anger, and then caught his breath as he saw the slight frown upon the face of his leader.
“A dangerous man, Chuck, but you don’t think that there’s any great mystery about him?” asked Tankerton.
Chuck hesitated, his lips twitching as he controlled the angry words that came. Finally he said: “It’s like this, chief. You take that kind of a gent . . . I dunno how to put it. But they’s been two men in the world that have give me a kind of a chill . . . he’s one of ’em.”
“That’s interesting, Chuck,” said Tankerton. “And who may the other have been?”
“You!” blurted out Chuck.
Tankerton smiled again. “No chills, Chuck. No chills. I’m your friend, I trust.”
“I hope so,” said Chuck with devout emotion. “But if you’d tie up with a couple more of your best . . . if you and Lynn Tucker and maybe that new young feller that you got . . . Furneaux . . . was to join up together. . . .”
“And add you to the party, Chuck?”
Chuck rubbed his knuckles across his fleshy forehead. Then he said, while he turned a dull red: “I wouldn’t be no good, I guess. He . . . he’s got me hypnotized, all right.” Then he broke out: “And if I was you, I wouldn’t waste no time. I’d go and break right in on him and not give his eyes no chance to work on you. That’s the best way.”
“Of course, it is,” said the other. “And I’ll do it alone.”
“Are you dead set, chief?”
Tankerton waved his hand toward the mountains, as though on their hard faces could be seen the answer to that question. Then he said simply: “A fellow like that will be a pleasure to meet. And if I have to die, it’s best not to be dropped by the chance bullet that some fool in a posse fires.”
Chuck blinked again, for this was a spirit to which he could listen, but which he could not very well comprehend. He knew that it was above and beyond him, and a new thrill jumped from his heart to his brain as he realized that his master was, indeed, utterly fearless. Sometimes, men were apt to say that he was a wily fox who put the burden of his labors upon the shoulders of others, and then collected the money and the fame at their expense, but Chuck could see now that this question was answered once and for all. For his own part, he would rather have faced a fiery dragon than that pair of smiling eyes and that faintly smiling mouth of Carrick Dunmore.
Actually he fell back a pace and took a short breath. “All right, chief,” he said.
“Where is he now?”
“Up in his room. He’s just made the wife bring him up tea and m’lasses and hot cakes. This time of day, will you think?”
“How can he make her, Chuck?”
“It’s better to fetch him what he wants than to have him come and take it,” said Harper.
“Very well,” said Tankerton, “then I’ll go to his room, rather than let him come to fetch me.”
SIXTEEN
Before he left the screen of trees behind it, Tankerton paused and examined the hotel with care, for there was plenty of danger in crossing the clearing if some accurate shot waited behind the windows, rifle i
n hand. The face of the building depressed him, as the sight of a new school does a boy on the first day of a term. However, he shrugged away this weakness and immediately stepped out from the trees to the open, crossing it with never an apparent look at the windows before him.
As he went, he was deeply realizing what he had almost forgotten in the last few years—that his kingdom was built upon his own strength and courage alone. He had his little army of scouts and of fighters to deal with the heavy posses who rode up from the plains, but it had never occurred to him that a single man might quietly step through his outer defenses and sit down here in the heart of his power.
From the street beyond the hotel he could hear someone whistling “The Campbells Are Coming”, and he wondered if this might be a signal that concerned his own approach.
The rear door of the hotel opened, and Chuck Harper was there holding it ajar and greeting him with a twisted grin and a white face. The big fellow was badly frightened, but viciously hopeful, and, as for his wife, she looked at Tankerton as one who already smells a feast.
“If you take off your boots here,” said Harper, “I’ll show you how to get up the stairs to his room without makin’ no noise.”
“I’ll walk up in my boots,” said Tankerton calmly. “I may be dying in a few moments.”
“Don’t talk about it!” Chuck Harper said in horror. “But the main thing is for you to get there easy. Now I could show you a way across the roof. He might be watchin’ the door. He ain’t so likely to look for a gent to pop in at his window.”
Tankerton smiled. “Do you think that I want to do a murder, Chuck?” he asked. “This is the way up, isn’t it?”
Straightway he marched across the dining room and through the hall, and up the darkened staircase, his feet heavy with the knowledge that this day would make history in his life, and his heart strengthening itself for the battle. For the tenth time he loosened his revolver as he walked.
From the top of the stairs, Chuck Harper, who had stolen noiselessly up behind his master, pointed and whispered: “Last door on the left . . . your room.”
“My room,” said Tankerton beneath his breath. Then he went forward with anger. There was enough anger, at least, to warm him thoroughly and to make him grateful for the last remark made by Harper.
So he came to the door at a brisk walk, jerked it open, and stepped inside with gun in hand and a bounding joy that he had not found the door locked. He was taking advantage, but such advantages were permissible, according to his code. As he snatched the door wide, he heard from the street the shrilling whistle of “The Campbells Are Coming” still in progress, and with the lift of that music in his ears he saw a man turning toward him from the window, and stepping out to him at the same time. He saw every detail of this man in the burning concentration of the first glance. He saw the shoulders sleeked over with strength, the fine head, and, above all, a faint smile in lips and eyes—the stern joy of one who really loves battle.
The gun of Tankerton was poised as he entered—he needed only to let the muzzle drop down upon the mark, and into the breast of the other he sent a .45-caliber bullet. It was as though an invisible finger pushed through the shirt of the other from left to right, but he did not fall. And then the wink of steel that had appeared in the hand of Dunmore—plucked out of the air, as it were—exploded. A stifling breath struck the face of Tankerton, like the breath of a great beast of prey, with hot prickles of fire stinging his eyes blind.
Into the red-speckled darkness he fired blindly. The gun was wrenched from his hand and he himself embraced with such a might as he never had dreamed of. He reached for his second gun—it already was gone— and a cold muzzle was clapped under his chin.
At the same time the voice of Dunmore said loudly: “Well, Tankerton, it’s a draw. Are we going to murder each other, or do we stop here?”
The brain of Tankerton spun.
“Answer, you fool,” said Dunmore in a whisper. “They’re listening. You see no sense in murder. . . .”
“There’s no sense in stupid murder, Dunmore,” said Tankerton.
“Sit down, then,” said Dunmore, “and we’ll talk the thing over.”
Tankerton found himself lightly lifted, and then deposited into a chair. In the hall, dimly, he heard retreating footfalls, rapid steps that ran away with such reckless haste that the floor pulsed with the impacts.
A fiery torment still blinded him, so that he saw only red-speckled blackness streaked across with dazzling white lights. A wet cloth now pressed across his face gave almost instant relief. There was some soothing medicament upon it. His eyes cleared, and once more he could look about him, although somewhat dimly for the moment. At least, he could see that Dunmore was on the opposite side of the room, rolling a cigarette, which he now lighted.
“Have the makings?” he politely proffered.
“No,” said Tankerton. He was anxious enough to smoke, but he was afraid lest there might be a visible tremor in his hand. He was still shaken from head to foot by the shock of what had happened, and his very vitals ached from the grip of Dunmore’s arm.
“Reckon that they won’t be listening at the door,” said Dunmore. “But they’s quite a little ol’ crowd gatherin’ below. Hear ’em?”
There was a confusion of many voices that lifted to the ears of Tankerton, but all these voices were suppressed and kept down, as though by fear. Then his eyes cleared altogether; his mind at the same time could function again, and he realized that he had been beaten for the first time.
Dunmore, watching him critically, understood. “Sort of a low-down trick that I played you, Tanker-ton,” he said. He undid his shirt at the neck, and, drawing over his head a loop of leather thong, he pulled out the broad, heavy blade of a plowshare. “I couldn’t’ve taken the chance with a less straight shot than you, Tankerton,” said Dunmore, “but I knew that you’d hit the heart, and you done it.” He laughed a little as he indicated a bright streak across the rusted face of the iron. “You hit it with a whang. That time, you must’ve heard the bell ring, Tankerton?”
The outlaw sat with head erect, leaning a little forward in his chair, and studying the other with a calm brightness of eye. Never before had Dunmore seen such a man, or felt in another such nerve of dauntless steel.
“The stuff I used on you,” said Dunmore, “was not fair, of course. But it was better than knocking you over with a slug, wasn’t it?”
“What are you after, Dunmore?” he said.
“A talk with you,” said Dunmore.
“Did you have to run this mystery game at Harper’s place in order to talk with me? You must have known that I’m always ready to talk with any man.”
“This takes a little explaining,” said Dunmore. “The fact is that I knew I could talk to you when I felt like it, but, from my way of lookin’ at it, it was a lot better to have you come to my office than for me to go to yours. Saved me from sendin’ in my card, you might say.”
Tankerton made another brief gesture. “You have all the cards in the pack,” he said, “so you can say how the game is to be played.”
“Why, we’ll each take half,” said Dunmore.
“Half of what?”
“We’ll make a merger, Tankerton.”
“A merger? I want to try to understand you, Dunmore.”
“I’ll put it straight as I can. We each of us have something to give . . . we’ve each got something to get. For instance, you’ve got the mountains, here, under your thumb. I want half of that power. You’ve got a gang of hard-handed fightin’ men. I want half of that bunch. You’re the king, Tankerton. You can keep right on bein’ the king, but I’m gonna be the grand vizier, or something like that. Instead of one whip, they’s gonna be two.”
Tankerton waited a moment, flushing a little. “I understand you now, I think,” he said. “The point is that you will buy half the stock in my company.”
“That’s a way of putting it.”
“Nearly everything in the world
is for sale,” said Tankerton. “I might point out that I’ve worked a good many years to build up this company. What price are you paying to let yourself into it on an equal basis?”
“What price did you pay to get it?” asked Dunmore.
“Careful planning, patience, and dangers faced and outfaced.”
“I’ve paid in the same coin,” said Dunmore. “I’ve come in and stepped into the teepee of a big chief with a lot of scalps already at his belt. I’ve hung out here while a gunman came down and tried to murder me in the night. I sat around until murder with poison was tried. And, after that, the king got off his throne and come sashayin’ down here to polish me off. But he tripped. He didn’t have the luck. So he’s settin’ here thinkin’ things over and decidin’ that, after all, I’m talkin’ business the right way.”
Tankerton shook his head. “Do you think that my men would follow you?”
“I got an idea that they’d learn to.”
“I don’t see the possibility,” Tankerton contradicted.
The face of Dunmore grew hard. “Think it over, old-timer,” he said. “You’ll see that I’m right when I say that we’d better shake hands, and then go to the window and let the boys outside see us together.”
Still, Tankerton waited for a moment, his teeth clenched hard, but suddenly he rose and held out his hand. “I’ll agree on the start,” said he, “but you’ll have to take care of your own finish.”
Dunmore met the proffered grip willingly. “I never asked for loaded dice,” he said.
SEVENTEEN
Standing shoulder to shoulder, as though for mutual support, Chuck Harper and his wife saw Carrick Dunmore and Tankerton come down the stairs side-by-side—Dunmore with his pack across his shoulder. The two were talking in the most amiable fashion.