“It might be arranged so that Jake would forget about it,” said Hunter mildly.
“I don’t want any such arrangement, and I don’t want anybody trying to make such an arrangement,” said Wayne, coloring. “If Jake doesn’t show up, he’d better get out of town. I’ll make him remember it if I have to take his gun away from him.”
Both Hunter and Green were looking at him keenly. “I suppose you know,” said Hunter, “that he’s a greased thunderbolt … greased lightning, I mean … with his gun, and has friends.”
“Lot of good they’ll do him,” Wayne retorted scornfully. His lips drew tight and he shook his head slowly. “No, I’ve got to do it.”
“Do what?” Green asked.
“If Barry shows up and doesn’t get the drop on me in some underhanded way,” said Wayne slowly, looking at his plate, “I’m going to have to kill him.”
Green pursed his lips and Hunter stared. This wasn’t bravado; it wasn’t overconfidence; it had all the authenticity of a carefully considered statement of fact. Wayne’s implicit faith in his ability to do just what he said he was going to have to do, with the one stated provision, was amazing. Anyone could read unmistakably in his eyes that he wasn’t bluffing.
The gambler thrust a hand into his side coat pocket on the right, drew forth the halves of five torn cards, and tossed them face up on the table.
Wayne pushed back his chair, staring at the pieces of the cards. There were the two halves of the king of diamonds, the halves of four other cards, three of them diamonds and the other the seven of clubs.
Green hadn’t had a flush; he hadn’t even had two kings.
Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “What was the idea?” he asked.
“The seven of clubs is my lucky card,” the gambler replied coolly. “I never pass it up. But tonight it threw me down, in a way.”
Wayne smiled grimly. A gambler of Green’s caliber tossing away the amount he had on a fool superstition? Rot! “Now let’s have the real reason,” he said, rising.
“Sit down!” Hunter recommended.
Wayne remained standing, ignoring the order.
Green made a gesture of conciliation. “I was thinking of Jake,” he said to Wayne whimsically. “I wanted to see if you had it … the guts, I mean, and the common sense. I guess you’ve got a chance.”
Chapter Sixteen
After a long pause, during which neither of the older men looked at him, Wayne finally resumed his seat. He was scowling in doubt and perplexity, for he still failed to understand thoroughly the purport of Green’s explanation of why he had deliberately lost the pot. If it was a test, it was a queer test. And it had served to win admiration for Wayne from the spectators.
“Sure all sounds mighty fishy to me,” he said at last. “But I can’t forget you did me a good turn the other night, Green.”
“You might as well forget it,” said the gambler dryly. “I have.” He calmly lit a cigar.
“Looks to me, Wayne, that you’ve no call to get heated up over anything,” drawled Hunter, looking the other squarely in the eyes. “If we didn’t have an interest in you, we wouldn’t be here. You can be sure of that. And … whether you know it or not or give a doggone … we’re not bad friends to have. Maybe we ought to be given some consideration.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to get sore at anybody, you men especially, but …” He wavered in indecision, looking at the two of them.
“You see, it’s like this,” said Hunter in his slow drawling voice, tapping on the table and looking down at his moving fingers. “I feel responsible for all this, in a way. You came over here at your dad’s orders to see me and give me a message. And when you thought you’d been double-crossed in getting in touch with me the other night, you followed me to the butte the next day and got into that other mess.”
As Hunter paused, Wayne looked sharply at Green, but nothing about Green indicated that he knew what had happened above Devil’s Hole, although Wayne suspected he knew all about it. “I’m not blaming you for a thing!” Wayne ejaculated. “I wouldn’t have the right to, anyway.” He still yearned for Hunter’s friendship and confidence. And, naturally, Hunter had had nothing to do with the affairs of the night—so he thought.
“Nobody’s saying anything about blame,” Hunter went on with a wave of his hand. “I’m just explaining that I feel responsible for what’s happened. If you hadn’t come to see me, this business with Barry never would have come up. Isn’t that so, Mort?” He looked quickly at Green.
“That’s right,” agreed the gambler. “And I feel a certain responsibility, too.” He looked at Wayne directly. “I should have fixed that night meeting with Hunter. I would have fixed it if I had thought anything like this was to come about. Oh, don’t look that way. Hunter was due back the day he left. Did come back that night, in fact. So I guess you’ll agree that Hunter and me are responsible … to a degree.”
“If that’s the case, you might as well include Henseler,” said Wayne with a wry smile. Then his expression and the tone of his voice changed instantly. “If you want to know who is responsible,” he said curtly, “I’ll tell you. It’s Jake Barry. He was responsible from the start. Now, he’s got to finish.” His eyes were flashing.
“We’d rather not see you go through with this,” said Hunter. “It isn’t necessary in your case. You’re not a gunman or anything like that.”
“And you know you don’t mean what you’re saying!” Wayne exclaimed scornfully. “They know me as Wayne of the Whippoorwill. I’ve heard ’em call me that when they thought I wasn’t listening. The Whippoorwill has a pretty good reputation, if I do say it, and my dad never backed down from a man in his life. So, such talk is nonsense.”
For a moment there was a sparkle of admiration in Hunter’s eyes. Again he looked at Green and some message seemed to pass in that look. He turned to Wayne. “Then you’ll have to have friends,” he said quietly. “I suppose you know that.”
Wayne appeared somewhat startled. Then he looked at the older man thoughtfully. “My father gave me letters to two men who he said would help me to find you. One was Henseler, and the other …” He bethought himself suddenly of the remaining envelope. This he drew forth. It was addressed to Mortimer G. Webb. He studied the superscription. Mortimer G. He stared at the gambler. They called him Mort Green. Was not Mort short for Mortimer? And could not that middle initial easily stand for Green? And was it not possible, if it were he, that Webb would prefer to be known simply as Mort Green?
A smile played on Wayne’s lips. “My father,” he repeated, “gave me letters to two men. These must be friends of his or he would not have trusted them in this way. Therefore, shouldn’t I expect them to be my friends in an emergency like this?”
“I should think so.” Hunter nodded. Without another word Wayne tossed the second letter on the table before Green.
The gambler glanced at the superscription. “Took you a long time to get wise,” he snapped, as he tore open the envelope, took out a sheet of paper, and scanned what had been written on it.
Wayne felt relieved. This explained Green’s interest in him and possibly his queer play of that night. A friend of Ed Wayne’s would naturally be a friend of his son. So with Hunter. As to Henseler, Wayne had his doubts. The way matters were going he had no desire to jump at any conclusions.
“I half suspected you had this for me,” said Green. “If you had given it to Henseler, he would have told you who I was the first night I saw you. You had nothing to gain by keeping this in your pocket, and it might have caused me embarrassment if it had been found on you.” He tore the letter to bits and threw the pieces out the open window.
Hunter leaned his elbows on the table and spoke in guarded tones. “This thing has to be arranged,” he said, looking at Wayne closely. “It can’t just happen, you might say … not in this town. Barry has friends here and they’re none too good. That fellow, Boyd, you shot up above the Hole has friends, too. None of ’em wants you to win this little shootin�
�� bee. Barry knew what he was doing when he called you. Right down in the bottom of his heart he thinks he can beat you to the draw and the spot. And maybe he can. But whether he can or not, he isn’t going to take a chance. He wants your hide with a hole in it, and don’t fool yourself into half believing he’ll forget about the little appointment he made with you. You called the turn when you said he was afraid to take a chance with you in The Three Colors tonight. No, he wasn’t afraid … don’t get that in your head … but he wouldn’t take the chance.” Hunter took out tobacco and papers. His face looked almost hideous in the lamplight because of its horrible blemish. “Right now, that ornery bunch is scheming out just how it’s to be done,” he concluded with a nod at both of them.
“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Wayne frowned.
“I know it!” said Hunter sharply.
“And so do I,” Green put in with his silky poker voice.
“That’s why,” Hunter went on, after putting a light to his cigarette, “this thing … this meeting … has to be arranged. You can’t just walk down the middle of the street, expecting Jake to come walking from the other end. And you can’t just stand somewhere and wait for him to come along. We’ve got to go at this a little different.” He inhaled deeply and wafted a smoke ring upward.
“I suppose because this Barry is a member of that cut-throat Darling’s gang, that outlaw will be along with his gang.” Wayne watched Hunter through narrowed lids as he put in this bold shot.
But Hunter never batted an eyelash. “Darling isn’t that kind,” he said. “And this isn’t any of his affair and wouldn’t be, even if Barry was running with him, as to which, I don’t know.”
“I take it you don’t know much about Darling,” said Green, showing a sudden interest.
“I only know what I’ve heard,” Wayne returned, biting his lip with annoyance for having brought up the name of the outlaw. “It’s well-known he’s a killer, and a rustler, and a general all-around bandit with a gang of desperadoes trailing with him. Isn’t that so?”
“He’s bad,” Green agreed.
“He’s worse than that, if you meddle with him,” said Hunter sharply. “Let’s get back where we belong … to what we was talking about.”
“I don’t like the idea of somebody making arrangements for me,” said Wayne, sensing the foolishness of his statement even as the words came from his tongue.
“It’s no longer a question of what you like,” said Hunter curtly. “We’re going to see fair play and it’s up to you to do the fighting when the time comes. Until then, you’ll take orders.”
“Whose orders?” Wayne flared.
“The orders of your friends … whether you want to, or not,” Hunter replied grimly. “You must think this is fun for us, Wayne. And for all you know, we may be taking a little chance ourselves. But you can do this. You can go with us or you can go alone. It’s for you to say … now.”
“Oh, I’ve got sense enough to trail along.” Wayne smiled. “What’s the plan?” Although he could not know it, in that smile and speech he won Hunter’s friendship. And that was no mean acquisition.
Hunter rolled and lit a fresh cigarette while Green puffed moodily on his cigar. Once more Hunter leaned with his elbows on the table and spoke slowly in a moderate tone. “You stay here in this house tonight.” He smiled in turn. “You’re dangerous enough to have wandering about town, but that isn’t the point. If something was to happen to you before the time for meeting Barry … see? Anyway, it’ll be daylight in a few hours. Green lives here. I’m going out and scout around and find out anything I can. Henseler’s ears are wide open at The Three Colors, too. Get a good sleep and I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll come clean and say I don’t know what our play will be yet, but I do know one thing. We’re going to bring Jake to a certain spot when the time comes and none of his hangers-on, to say nothing of himself, is going to have a chance to take a pot shot at you or pull any other dirty work. Listen, Wayne, there’s more behind this than you think. That sounds like mystery, and it is mystery. It’s as much mystery to me as it is to you. But I can read a sign when it’s on the tip of my …” He scowled, and Wayne knew he had meant to say nose. Yet there was nothing amusing in the slip. Hunter was too deadly in earnest. “Anyway, you lay low,” said Hunter, rising. “I’m goin’ to browse around. You know …” He ceased speaking and looked at the two of them quizzically. “There’s a chance of me getting mixed up in this thing myself.” He started out as Mrs. Trippett came in. “Feed this buckaroo an antidote for gunpowder in the morning,” he said in parting, jerking a thumb toward Wayne.
Green laughed. “Jim’s a queer bird,” was his comment.
Mrs. Trippett stared at Wayne. “So you’ve tied yourself up in a shootin’ match,” she said severely. Then, with an air of resignation: “Well, my Tom used to say, if a man had to shoot it out, shoot it out on the outside.” She nodded as Wayne grinned. It was her way of conveying advice.
“I’m going to bed,” Green announced. “You better follow suit, Wayne.”
“I’ll show you your room,” said Mrs. Trippett.
Wayne said good night to the gambler and followed the woman into a small, comfortable room. She lighted a lamp on the table, and he sat down to pull off his boots.
Mrs. Trippett fussed about the room and seemed in no hurry to leave. Wayne surmised that she had something to tell him and paved the way by remarking: “You hear news fast as it’s set loose, don’t you, Missus Trippett?”
“Oh, Jim told me when he came in. It was straight talk he was givin’ you and Jim Hunter’s a mighty good man to have for a friend.”
“I know that,” said Wayne soberly. “Do you think he is my friend, Missus Trippett?”
“He wouldn’t bother with you if he wasn’t,” the woman snorted. She looked about and lowered her voice. “You can forget I said it, but there isn’t any love lost between him and that Barry crowd.”
Wayne nodded in understanding. “And Green?” he suggested.
“The same,” Mrs. Trippett affirmed. “But they’d stick with you, anyway, I expect. Watch this Barry. He’s slippery as a snake. He’ll wear two guns and try to make you think he’s goin’ for both of ’em to rattle you, but he’s only good with his right.”
Wayne yielded to a sudden inspiration. “Do you know this man, Darling?” he asked casually.
Mrs. Trippett hesitated. “Don’t talk about him,” she advised finally. “It ain’t policy.”
“Do you think he’ll be in town?” Wayne persisted. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“He’s … liable to be,” was the answer. “Now you go to bed and I’ll call you for breakfast.” She left before Wayne had an opportunity to question her further, but he felt that he had learned what he wanted to know.
* * * * *
The dangerous possibilities of the impending meeting with Jake Barry did not prevent Wayne from sleeping soundly until nearly noon. Meanwhile, the town of Rainbow thrilled to its biggest sensation in years. There had been clashes between gunmen and free-for-all fights that had ended in tragedy; men had been “given notice” before. But this was different. Wayne was not a reputed gunfighter, but the scion of a great stock family. Even the roughest element conceded that he could back out and retain his face to a great extent. That he did not choose to do this, raised him sky-high in the estimation of most of the denizens of that tough town. On the other hand, he was not supposed to have much chance. True, he had gotten the best of Barry with his fists, but with guns—that was another matter. Moreover, Barry had a big following. Men who belonged to his crowd flocked into town. And other men swarmed into Rainbow. The riders who came from the wild district about the butte were not few. Comments in general were guarded, but there was an underlying sentiment among the groups in the resorts and street that Wayne didn’t have a chance. But in some mysterious manner the word got about that Jim Hunter was backing Wayne. Men began to think hard when they heard this rumor.
Neither Wayne no
r Barry appeared on the street during the morning or early afternoon. Barry was circulating among his friends, cheerful and confident—almost bragging. But there was a queer gleam in his eyes, an alertness in his manner, that to some betrayed nervousness. He was wearing two guns.
Wayne remained in the little green house. There had been conferences with Hunter and Green. His hand and eye were steady as steel. Then, 5:00 p.m., Jack McCurdy, foreman of the Whippoorwill, rode into town at the head of fifteen WP cowpunchers, and Rainbow shivered with excitement.
But when McCurdy met Wayne in the little green house, the latter’s face was pale with anger—and Jim Hunter nodded approvingly at Green.
Chapter Seventeen
Wayne made a gesture to Hunter and Green. “Maybe I better talk to Mac, here, alone.” He saw McCurdy frown as the others went out, and then he stepped close to the WP foreman and put his question straight and to the point. “Mac, how’d you happen to come here just now? Have you heard what’s up?”
“Of course, I have. We’re here …”
“How’d you hear it so soon?” Wayne broke in, pressing his lips together.
“One of the boys told me.” McCurdy frowned. “You don’t have to act so huffy about it.”
Wayne smiled. “Was one of the boys in town last night?”
“Not that I know of, but he gave me a tip that you and Barry was to match guns tonight and that was enough for me. I didn’t wait for any more details. I rounded up a bunch of the boys and lit out for here as fast as four good hoofs could bring me. Now …”
“Just a minute,” Wayne interrupted impatiently. “You know none of the boys were in that you know of, and there’s no reason why any of them should be in. It took powerful fast riding on a mighty good horse to get word to the ranch in time for you to get here, and that’s the only way the news could get there. Do you know who took the word to the ranch?”
“I do not!” exclaimed the WP foreman angrily. “And I don’t give a whoop. What’s the matter with you? Do you think I’m lying?”
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