by Max Brand
CHAPTER XIX
REAL MEN
Some people pointed out that Sheriff Gus Morris had never made asingle important arrest in the ten years during which he had heldoffice, and there were a few slanderers who spoke insinuatingly of themanner in which the lone riders flourished in Morris's domain. These"knockers," however, were voted down by the vast majority, who sworethat the sheriff was the finest fellow who ever threw leg over saddle.They liked him for his inexhaustible good-nature, the mellow baritonein which he sang the range songs at any one's request, and perhapsmore than all, for the very laxness with which he conducted his work.They had had enough of the old school of sheriffs who lived a fewmonths gun in hand and died fighting from the saddle. The office hadnever seemed desirable until Gus Morris ran for it and smiled his wayto a triumphant election.
Before his career as an office-holder began, he ran a combined generalmerchandise store, saloon, and hotel. That is to say, he ran thehostelry in name. The real executive head, general manager, clerk,bookkeeper, and cook, and sometimes even bartender was his daughter,Jacqueline. She found the place only a saloon, and a poorly patronizedone at that. Her unaided energy gradually made it into a hotel,restaurant, and store. Even while her father was in office he spentmost of his time around the hotel; but no matter how important hemight be elsewhere, in his own house he had no voice. There the onlylaw was the will of Jacqueline.
Out of the stable behind this hostelry Dan and Tex Calder walked onthe evening of the train robbery. They had reached the place of thehold-up a full two hours after Silent's crew departed; and the firemanand engineer had been working frantically during the interim to cleanout the soaked fire box and get up steam again. Tex looked at the twodead bodies, spoke to the conductor, and then cut short the volubleexplanations of a score of passengers by turning his horse and ridingaway, followed by Dan. All that day he was gloomily silent. It was ashrewd blow at his reputation, for the outlaws had actually carriedout the robbery while he was on their trail. Not till they came out ofthe horse-shed after stabling their horses did he speak freely.
"Dan," he said, "do you know anything about Sheriff Gus Morris?"
"No"
"Then listen to this and salt every word away. I'm an officer of thelaw, but I won't tell that to Morris. I hope he doesn't know me. If hedoes it will spoil our game. I am almost certain he is playing a closehand with the lone riders. I'll wager he'd rather see a stick ofdynamite than a marshal. Remember when we get in that place that we'renot after Jim Silent or any one else. We're simply travelling cowboys.No questions. I expect to learn something about the location ofSilent's gang while we're here, but we'll never find out except byhints and chance remarks. We have to watch Morris like hawks. If hesuspects us he'll find a way to let Silent know we're here and thenthe hunters will be hunted."
In the house they found a dozen cattlemen sitting down at the table inthe dining-room. As they entered the room the sheriff, who sat at thehead of the table, waved his hand to them.
"H'ware ye, boys?" he called. "You'll find a couple of chairs right inthe next room. Got two extra plates, Jac?"
As Dan followed Tex after the chairs he noticed the sheriff beckonto one of the men who sat near him. As they returned with the chairssomeone was leaving the room by another door.
"Tex," he said, as they sat down side by side, "when we left thedining-room for the chairs, the sheriff spoke to one of the boys andas we came back one of them was leavin' through another door. D'youthink Morris knew you when you came in?"
Calder frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head.
"No," he said in a low voice. "I watched him like a hawk when weentered. He didn't bat an eye when he saw me. If he recognized me he'sthe greatest actor in the world, bar none! No, Dan, he doesn't know usfrom Adam and Abel."
"All right," said Dan, "but I don't like somethin' about thisplace--maybe it's the smell of the air. Tex, take my advice an' keepyour gun ready for the fastest draw you ever made."
"Don't worry about me," smiled Calder. "How about yourself?"
"Hello," broke in Jacqueline from the end of the table. "Look whowe've picked in the draw!"
Her voice was musical, but her accent and manner were those of a girlwho has lived all her life among men and has caught their ways--withan exaggeration of that self-confidence which a woman always feelsamong Western men. Her blue eyes were upon Dan.
"Ain't you a long ways from home?" she went on.
The rest of the table, perceiving the drift of her badgering, brokeinto a rumbling bass chuckle.
"Quite a ways," said Dan, and his wide brown eyes looked seriouslyback at her.
A yell of delight came from the men at this naive rejoinder. Danlooked about him with a sort of childish wonder. Calder's anxiouswhisper came at his side: "Don't let them get you mad, Dan!"Jacqueline, having scored so heavily with her first shot, was by nomeans willing to give up her sport.
"With them big eyes, for a starter," she said, "all you need is longhair to be perfect. Do your folks generally let you run around likethis?"
Every man canted his ear to get the answer and already they weregrinning expectantly.
"I don't go out much," returned the soft voice of Dan, "an' when I do,I go with my friend, here. He takes care of me."
Another thunder of laughter broke out. Jacqueline had apparentlyuncovered a tenderfoot, and a rare one even for that absurd species. Asandy-haired cattle puncher who sat close to Jacqueline now took thecue from the mistress of the house.
"Ain't you a bit scared when you get around among real men?" he asked,leering up the table towards Dan.
The latter smiled gently upon him.
"I reckon maybe I am," he said amiably.
"Then you must be shakin' in your boots right now," said the otherover the sound of the laughter.
"No, said Dan," "I feel sort of comfortable."
The other replied with a frown that would have intimidated a balkyhorse.
"What d'you mean? Ain't you jest said men made you sort of--nervous?"
He imitated the soft drawl of Dan with his last words and raisedanother yell of delight from the crowd. Whistling Dan turned hisgentle eyes upon Jacqueline.
"Pardon me, ma'am," he began.
An instant hush fell on the men. They would not miss one syllable ofthe delightful remarks of this rarest of all tenderfoots, and theprelude of this coming utterance promised something that would eclipseall that had gone before.
"Talk right out, Brown-eyes," said Jacqueline, wiping the tears ofdelight from her eyes. "Talk right out as if you was a man. _I_ won'thurt you."
"I jest wanted to ask," said Dan, "if these are real men?"
The ready laughter started, checked, and died suddenly away. Thecattlemen looked at each other in puzzled surprise.
"Don't they look like it to you, honey?" asked Jacqueline curiously.
Dan allowed his eyes to pass lingeringly around the table from face toface.
"I dunno," he said at last, "they look sort of queer to me."
"For God's sake cut this short, Dan," pleaded Tex Calder in anundertone. "Let them have all the rope they want. Don't trip up ourparty before we get started."
"Queer?" echoed Jacqueline, and there was a deep murmur from the men.
"Sure," said Dan, smiling upon her again, "they all wear their guns soawful high."
Out of the dead silence broke the roar of the sandy-haired man:"What'n hell d'you mean by that?"
Dan leaned forward on one elbow, his right hand free and resting onthe edge of the table, but still his smile was almost a caress.
"Why," he said, "maybe you c'n explain it to me. Seems to me that allthese guns is wore so high they's more for ornament than use."
"You damned pup--" began Sandy.
He stopped short and stared with a peculiar fascination at Dan, whostarted to speak again. His voice had changed--not greatly, for itspitch was the same and the drawl was the same--but there was a purrin it that made every man stiffen in his cha
ir and make sure that hisright hand was free. The ghost of his former smile was still on hislips, but it was his eyes that seemed to fascinate Sandy.
"Maybe I'm wrong, partner," he was saying, "an' maybe you c'n provethat _your_ gun ain't jest ornamental hardware?"
What followed was very strange. Sandy was a brave man and everyone atthat table knew it. They waited for the inevitable to happen. Theywaited for Sandy's lightning move for his gun. They waited for theflash and the crack of the revolver. It did not come. There followed astill more stunning wonder.
"You c'n see," went on that caressing voice of Dan, "that everyoneis waitin' for you to demonstrate--which the lady is most specialinterested."
And still Sandy did not move that significant right hand. It remainedfixed in air a few inches above the table, the fingers stiffly spread.He moistened his white lips. Then--most strange of all!--his eyesshifted and wandered away from the face of Whistling Dan. The othersexchanged incredulous glances. The impossible had happened--Sandy hadtaken water! The sheriff was the first to recover, though his foreheadwas shining with perspiration.
"What's all this stuff about?" he called. "Hey, Sandy, quit pickin'trouble with the stranger!"
Sandy seized the loophole through which to escape with his honour. Hesettled back in his chair.
"All right, gov'nor," he said, "I won't go spoilin' your furniture. Iwon't hurt him."