E-text prepared by Al Haines
THE TEXAN
A Story of the Cattle Country
by
JAMES B. HENDRYX
Author of
"The Gun Brand," "The Promise," etc.
A. L. Burt CompanyPublishers New YorkPublished by arrangement with G. P. Putnam's SonsMade in the United States of America
Copyright, 1918ByJames B. Hendryx
Fourth Printing
This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishersG. P. Putnam's Sons, New York And London
CONTENTS.
Chapter
A PROLOGUE I. THE TRAIN STOPS II. WOLF RIVER III. PURDY IV. CINNABAR JOE V. ON THE FLAT VI. THE RIM OF THE BENCH VII. THE ARREST VIII. ONE WAY OUT IX. THE PILGRIM X. THE FLIGHT XI. A RESCUE XII. TEX DOES SOME SCOUTING XIII. A BOTTLE OF "HOOCH" XIV. ON ANTELOPE BUTTE XV. THE TEXAN HEARS SOME NEWS XVI. BACK IN CAMP XVII. IN THE BAD LANDS XVIII. "WIN" XIX. THE END OF THE TRAIL
THE TEXAN
A PROLOGUE
Exactly twenty minutes after young Benton dismounted from his big rangyblack before the door of a low adobe saloon that fronted upon one of thenarrow crooked streets of old Las Vegas, he glanced into the eyes of thethin-lipped croupier and laughed. "You've got 'em. Seventy-four goodold Texas dollars." He held up a coin between his thumb and forefinger."I've got another one left, an' your boss is goin' to get that, too--buthe's goin' to get it in legitimate barter an' trade."
As the cowpuncher stepped to the bar that occupied one side of the room,a group of Mexicans who had lounged back at his entrance crowded oncemore about the wheel and began noisily to place their bets. He watchedthem for a moment before turning his attention to the heavy-lidded,flabby-jowled person who leaned ponderously against the sober side of thebar.
"Who owns this joint?" he asked truculently, as he eyed with disfavourthe filthy shirt-sleeves rolled back from thick forearms, the saggingvest, and the collarless shirt-band that buried itself in a fold of thefat neck.
"I do," was the surly rejoinder. "Got any kick comin'?"
"Nary kick." The cowpuncher tossed his dollar onto the bar. "Give me alittle red licker," he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor ashe filled his glass to the brim.
"An outfit," he confided, with slow insolence, "that'll run an eagle-birdwheel ain't got no more conscience than a _hombre's_ got brains that'llbuck one. In Texas we'd shoot a man full of little holes that 'ud tryit."
"Why'n you stay in Texas, then?" growled the other.
The cowman drank his liquor and refilled the glass. "Most fat men," heimparted irrelevantly, "are plumb mindful that they're easy hit, an'consequent they're cheerful-hearted an' friendly. Likewise, they mindtheir own business, which is also why they've be'n let grow to onhumanproportions. But, not to seem oncivil to a stranger, an' by way ofgettin' acquainted, I'll leak it out that it ain't no fault of Texas thatI come away from there--but owin' only to a honin' of mine to see more ofthe world than what Texas affords.
"The way to see a world," I debates, "is like anythin' else--begin at thebottom an' work up. So I selects seventy-five dollars an' hits fer LasVegas."
The fat man pocketed the dollar and replaced it with a greasy fifty-centpiece, an operation which the Texan watched with interest as he swallowedhis liquor.
"They ain't nothin' like eagle-bird wheels an' snake-liniment at two bitsa throw to help a man start at the bottom," he opined, and reaching forthe half-dollar, tossed it to a forlorn-looking individual who loungednear the door. "Here, Greaser, lend a hand in helpin' me downward!Here's four bits. Go lay it on the wheel--an' say: I got a hunch! Iplayed every number on that wheel except the thirteen--judgin' it to beonlucky." The forlorn one grinned his understanding, and clutching thepiece of silver, elbowed into the group that crowded the roulette wheel.The cowpuncher turned once more to the surly proprietor:
"So now you see me, broke an' among evil companions, in this hereGod-forsaken, lizard-ridden, Greaser-loving sheep-herdin' land of sorrow.But, give me another jolt of that there pizen-fermentus an' I'll raise toheights unknown. A few more shots of that an' they ain't no tellin' whatform of amusement a man's soul might incline to."
"Y'got the price?"
"I ain't got even the makin's--only an ingrowin' cravin' fer spirituallicker an' a hankerin' to see America first----"
"That hoss," the proprietor jerked a thumb toward the open door beyondwhich the big rangy black pawed fretfully at the street. "Mebbe we mightmake a trade. I got one good as him 'er better. It's that sor'lstandin' t'other side of yourn."
The Texan rested an arm upon the bar and leaned forward confidentially."Fatty," he drawled, "you're a liar." The other noted the hand thatrested lightly upon the cowman's hip near the ivory butt of the six-gunthat protruded from its holster, and took no offence. His customercontinued: "They ain't no such horse--an' if they was, _you_ couldn't ownhim. They ain't no man ever throw'd a kak on Ace of Spades but me, an'as fer sellin' him, or tradin' him--I'll shoot him first!"
A sudden commotion at the back of the room caused both men to turn towardthe wheel where a fierce altercation had arisen between the croupier andthe vagabond to whom the Texan had tossed his last coin.
"You'll take that er nothin'! It's more money'n y'ever see beforean'----"
"_Non_! _Non_! De _treize_! De, w'at you call t'irten--she repe't!A'm git mor' as seex hondre dollaire--" The proprietor lumbered heavilyfrom behind the bar and Benton noted that the thick fingers closedtightly about the handle of a bung-starter. The crowd of Mexicansthinned against the wall as the man with ponderous stealth approached toa point directly behind the excited vagabond who continued hisprotestations with increasing vigour. The next instant the Texan'ssix-gun flashed from its holster and as he crossed the room his eyecaught the swift nod of the croupier.
When the proprietor drew back his arm to strike, the thick wrist wasseized from behind and he was spun violently about to glare into thesmiling eyes of the cowpuncher--eyes in which a steely glint flickeredbehind the smile, a glint more ominous even than the feel of the muzzleof the blue-black six-gun that pressed deeply into his flabby paunch justabove the waistband of his trousers.
"Drop that mallet!" The words came softly, but with an ungentle softnessthat was accompanied by a boring, twisting motion of the gun muzzle as itpressed deeper into his midriff. The bung-starter thudded upon the floor.
"Now let's get the straight of this," continued the Texan. "Hey, youGreaser, if you c'n quit talkin' long enough to say somethin', we'll findout what's what here. You ort to look both ways when you're in a dumplike this or the coyotes'll find out what you taste like. Come on,now--give me the facts in the case an' I'll a'joodicate it to suit allparties that's my way of thinkin'."
"_Oui_! A'm play de four bit on de _treize_, an' _voila_! She ween!Da's wan gran' honch! A'm play heem wan tam' mor'. De w'eel she spin'roun', de leetle ball she sing lak de bee an', _Nom de Dieu_! Sherepe't! De t'irten ween ag'in. A'm reech--But _non_!" The man pointedexcitedly to the croupier who sneered across the painted board upon whicha couple of gold pieces lay beside a little pile of silver. "A-ha,_canaille_! Wat you call--son of a dog! T'ief! She say, 'feeftydollaire'! Dat more as seex hondre dollaire----"
"It's a lie!" cried the croupier fiercely, "the thirteen don't repeat.The sixteen win--you kin see fer yourself. An' what's more, they can'tno damn Injun come in here an' call me no----"
"Hold on!" The Texan shifted his glance to the croupier without easingthe pressure on the gun. "If the sixteen win, what's the fifty bucksfor? His stake's on the thirteen, ain't it?"
"What business you got, hornin' in on this? It hain't your funeral. YouTe
xas tin-horns comes over here an' lose----"
"That'll be about all out of you. An' if I was in your boots I wouldn'tgo speakin' none frivolous about funerals, neither."
The smile was gone from the steel-grey eyes and the croupier experienceda sudden chilling in the pit of his stomach.
"Let's get down to cases," the cowpuncher continued. "I kind of got theGreaser into this here jack-pot an' it's up to me to get him out. Helays four bits on the thirteen--she pays thirty-five--that'sseventeen-fifty. Eighteen, as she lays. The blame fool leaves it layan' she win again--that's thirty-five times eighteen. Good Lord! An'without no pencil an' paper! We'll cut her up in chunks an' tackle her:let's see, ten times eighteen is one-eighty, an' three times thatis--three times the hundred is three hundred, and three times the eightyis two-forty. That's five-forty, an' a half of one-eighty is ninety, an'five-forty is six-thirty. We'd ort to double it fer interest an'goodwill, but we'll leave it go at the reglar price. So, just you skinoff six hundred an' thirty bucks, an' eighteen more, an' pass 'em acrost.An' do it _pronto_ or somethin' might happen to Fatty right where he'sthickest." The cowpuncher emphasized his remarks by boring the muzzleeven deeper into the unctuous periphery of the proprietor. The croupiershot a questioning glance toward his employer.
"Shell it out! You fool!" grunted that worthy. "Fore this gun comes outmy back. An', besides, it's cocked!" Without a word the croupiercounted out the money, arranging it in little piles of gold and silver.
As the vagabond swept the coins into his battered Stetson the Texan gavea final twist to the six-gun. "If I was you, Fatty, I'd rub that therethirteen number off that wheel an' paint me a tripple-ought or mebbe,another eagle-bird onto it."
He turned to the man who stood grinning over his hatful of money:
"Come on, Pedro, me an' you're goin' away from here. The licker this_hombre_ purveys will shore lead to bloodshed an' riotin', besides whichit's onrespectable to gamble anyhow."
Pausing to throw the bridle reins over the horn of his saddle, the Texanlinked his arm through that of his companion and proceeded down thestreet with the big black horse following like a dog. After severalminutes of silence he stopped and regarded the other thoughtfully.
"Pedro," he said, "me an' you, fallin' heir to an onexpected legacy thisway, it's fit an' proper we should celebrate accordin' to our lights.The common an' onchristian way would be to spliflicate around from onesaloon to another 'till we'd took in the whole town an' acquired a coupleof jags an' more or less onfavourable notoriety. Then, in a couple ofdays or two, we'd wake up with fur on our tongue an inch long an' ourwealth divided amongst thieves. But, Pedro, such carryin's-on isondecent an' improvident. Take them great captains of industry you readabout! D'you reckon every pay-day old Andy Rockyfellow goes a rampin'down Main Street back there in Noo York, proclaimin' he's a wolf an' it'shis night to howl? Not on your tintype, he don't! If he did he'd neverof rose out of the rank an' file of the labourin' class, an' chances is,would of got fired out of that fer not showin' up at the corral Mondaymornin'! Y'see I be'n a-readin' up on the lives of these here saints tokind of get a line on how they done it. Take that whole bunch an' theywasn't hardly a railroad nor a oil mill nor a steel factory between 'emwhen they was born. I got all their numbers. I know jest how they doneit, an' when I get time I'm a-goin' out an' make the Guggenhimers coughup my share of Mexico an' the Rocky Mountains an' Alaska.
"But to get down to cases, as the preachers says: Old Andy he don'tcantankerate none noticeable. When he feels needful of a jamboree hegoes down to the bank an' fills his pockets an' a couple of valises withchange, an' gum-shoes down to John D. Swab's, an' they hunt up CharleyCarnage an' a couple of senators an' a rack of chips an' they finds 'em aback room, pulls off their collars an' coats an' goes to it. They ain'tno kitty only to cover the needful expenses of drinks, eats, an'smokes--an' everything goes, from cold-decks to second-dealin'. Thenwhen they've derove recreation enough, on goes their collars an' coats,an' they eat a handful of cloves an' get to work on the public again.They's a lot of money changes hands in these here sessions but it nevergets out of the gang, an' after you get their brands you c'n generallyalways tell who got gouged by noticin' what goes up. If coal oil hists acouple of cents on the gallon you know Andy carried his valises homeempty an' if railroad rates jumps--the senators got nicked a little, an'vicy versy. Now you an' me ain't captains of industry, nor nothin' elsebut our own soul, as the piece goes, but 'tain't no harm we should try alaw-abidin' recreation, same as these others, an' mebbe after somepractice we'll get to where the Guggenhimers will be figgerin' how to getthe western hemisphere of North America back from us.
"It's like this. Me an' you'll stop in an' get us a couple of drinks.Then we'll hunt us up a hash-house an' put a big bate of ham an' aigs outof circulation, an' go get us a couple more drinks, an' heel ourselveswith a deck of cards an' a couple bottles of cactus juice, an' hunt us upa place where we'll be ondisturbed by the riotorious carryin's-on of thefrivolous-minded, an' we'll have us a two-handed poker game which nomatter who wins we can't lose, like I was tellin' you, 'cause they can'tno outside parties horn in on the profits. But first-off we'll hunt up afeed barn so Ace of Spades can load up on oats an' hay while we're havin'our party."
An hour later the Texan deposited a quart bottle, a rack of chips, and adeck of cards on a little deal table in the dingy back room of a saloon.
"I tell you, Pedro, they's a whole lot of fancy trimmin's this room ain'tgot, but it's quiet an' peaceable an' it'll suit our purpose to a gnat'shind leg." He dropped into a chair and reached for the rack of chips.
"It's a habit of mine to set facin' the door," he continued, as heproceeded to remove the disks and arrange them into stacks. "So if yougot any choist just set down acrost the table there an' we'll start thefestivities. I'll bank the game an' we'll take out a fifty-dollar stackan' play table stakes." He shoved three stacks of chips across thetable. "Just come acrost with fifty bucks so's we c'n keep the bankstraight an' go ahead an' deal. An' while you're a-doin' it, bein' asyou're a pretty good Greaser, I'll just take a drink to you----"
"Greasaire, _non_! Me, A'm hate de damn Greasaire!"
The cowpuncher paused with the bottle half way to his lips andscrutinized the other: "I thought you was a little off colour an' talkedkind of funny. What be you?"
"Me, A'm Blood breed. Ma fader she French. Ma moder she Blood Injun.A'm leeve een Montan' som'tam'--som'tam' een Canada. A'm no lak deescontrie! Too mooch hot. Too mooch Greasaire! Too mooch sheep. A'm lakI go back hom'. A'm ride for T. U. las' fall an' A'm talk to round-upcook, Walt Keeng, hees nam', an' he com' from Areezoon'. She no likeMontan'. She say Areezoon' she bettaire--no fence--beeg range--plent'cattle. You goin' down dere an' git job you see de good contrie. You nocom' back Nort' no more. So A'm goin' down w'en de col' wedder com' an'A'm git de job wit' ol' man Fisher on, w'at you call Yumabench--_Sacre_!" The half-breed paused and wiped his face.
"Didn't you like it down Yuma Way?" Benton smiled.
"Lak it! _Voila_! No wataire! No snow! Too mooch, w'at you call, deleezard! Een de wintaire, A'm so Godamn hot A'm lak for die. _Non_!A'm com' way from dere. A'm goin' Nort' an' git me nodder job w'ere A'mgit som' wataire som'tam'. Mebbe so git too mooch col' in wintaire, but,_voila_! Better A'm lak I freeze l'il bit as burn oop!"
The Texan laughed. "I don't blame you none. I never be'n down to Yumabut they tell me it's hell on wheels. Go ahead an' deal, Pedro."
"Pedro, _non_! Ma moder she nam' Moon Eye, an' ma fader she Cross-CutLajune. Derefor', A'm Batiste Xavier Jean Jacques de Beaumont Lajune."
The bottle thumped upon the table top.
"What the hell is that, a name or a song?"
"Me, das ma nam'--A'm call Batiste Xavier Jean----"
"Hold on there! If your ma or pa, or whichever one done the namin'didn't have no expurgated dictionary handy mebbe they ain't to blame--butfrom now on, between you an' me, you're Bat
. That's name enough, an' theJohn Jack Judas Iscariot an' General Jackson part goes in the discards.An' bein' as this here is only a two-handed game, the discards isdead---- See?"
At the end of an hour the half-breed watched with a grin as the Texanraked in a huge pile of chips.
"Dat de las'," he said, "Me, A'm broke."
"Broke!" exclaimed the cowpuncher, "you don't mean you've done lost allthat there six hundred an' forty-eight bucks?" He counted the littlepiles of silver and gold, which the half-breed had shoved across theboard in return for stack after stack of chips.
"Six-forty-two," he totalled. "Let's see, supper was a dollar an' fourbits, drinks two dollars, an' two dollars for this bottle of prune-juicethat's about gone already, an'--Hey, Bat, you're four bits shy! Friskyourself an' I'll play you a showdown for them four bits." The othergrinned and held a silver half dollar between his finger and thumb.
"_Non_! A'm ke'p dat four bit! Dat lucky four bit. A'm ponch hole inheem an' car' heem roun' ma neck lak' de medicine bag. A'm gon' backNort'--me! A'm got no frien's. You de only friend A'm got. You give mede las' four bit. You, give me de honch to play de t'irteen. A'm gitreech, an' den you mak' de bank, w'at you call, com' 'crost. Now A'mgoin' back to Montan' an' git me de job. Wat de hell!"
"Where's your outfit?" asked the Texan as he carefully stowed the moneyin his pockets.
"Ha! Ma outfeet--A'm sell dat outfeet to git de money to com' back hom'.A'm play wan leetle gam' coon can an' _voila_! A'm got no money. Dedamn Greasaire she ween dat money an' A'm broke. A'm com' som'tam' on defreight train--som'tam' walk, an' A'm git dees far. Tomor' A'm git defreight train goin' Nort' an' som'tam' A'm git to Montan'. Eet ees ver'far, but mebbe-so A'm git dere for fall round-up. An' Ba Goss, A'mnevaire com' sout' no mor'. Too mooch hot! Too mooch no wataire! Toomooch, w'at you call, de pizen boog--mebbe-so in de bed--in de pants--inde boot--you git bite an' den you got to die! Voila! Wat de hell!"
The Texan laughed and reaching into his pocket drew out two twenty dollargold pieces and a ten which thudded upon the table before the astonishedeyes of the half-breed.
"Here, Bat, you're a damn good Injun! You're plumb squanderous with yourmoney, but you're a good sport. Take that an' buy you a ticket to as farNorth as it'll get you. Fifty bucks ort to buy a whole lot of carridin'. An' don't you stop to do no gamblin', neither---- Ain't I toldyou it's onrespectable an' divertin' to morals? If you don't _sabe_ cooncan no better'n what you do poker, you stand about as much show amongstthese here Greasers as a rabbit in a coyote patch. It was a shame totake your money this way, but bein' as you're half-white it was up to meto save you the humiliatin' agony of losin' it to Greasers."
The half-breed pocketed the coins as the other buttoned his shirt andtook another long pull at the bottle.
"Wer' you goin' now?" he asked as the cowpuncher started for the door.The man paused and regarded him critically. "First off, I'm goin' to getmy horse. An' then me an' you is goin' down to the depot an' you'rea-goin' to buy that there ticket. I'm a-goin' to see that you get itironclad an' onredeemable, I ain't got no confidence in no gambler an'bein' as I've took a sort of likin' to you, I hate to think of youa-walkin' clean to Montana in them high-heeled boots. After that I'ma-goin' to start out an' examine this here town of Las Vegas lengthways,crossways, down through the middle, an' both sides of the crick. An'when that's off my mind, I'm a-goin' to begin on the rest of the world."He moved his arm comprehensively and reached for the bottle.
"You wait right here till I get old Ace of Spades," he continued solemnlywhen he had rasped the raw liquor from his throat. "If you ain't herewhen I come back I'll swallow-fork your ears with this here gat just tosee if my shootin' eye is in practice. The last time I done any fancyshootin' I was kind of wild--kep' a-hittin' a little to one side an' theother--not much, only about an inch or so--but it wasn't right goodshootin'."
The half-breed grinned: "A'm stay here till you com' back. A'm fin' datyou ma frien'. A'm lak' you, _bien_!"
When the Texan returned, fifteen minutes later, the man of many names wasgone. "It's just like I said, you can't trust no gambler," he muttered,with a doleful nod of the head. "He's pulled out on me, but he betternot infest the usual marts of midnight. 'Cause I'm a-goin' to start outan' take in everything that's open in this man's town, an' if I find himI'll just nachelly show him the onprincipledness of lyin' to a friend."
Stepping to the bar he bought a drink and a moment later swung onto thebig rangy black and clattered down the street. At the edge of the townhe turned and started slowly back, dismounting wherever the lights of asaloon illumined the dingy street, but never once catching a glimpse ofthe figure that followed in the thick blackness of the shadows. Beforethe saloon of the surly proprietor the cowpuncher brought his big blackto a stand and sat contemplating the sorrel that stood dejectedly withears adroop and one hind foot resting lightly upon the toe.
"So that's the cayuse Fatty wanted to trade me for Ace of Spades!" hesnorted. "That dog-legged, pot-gutted, lop-eared patch of red he offersto trade to _me_ fer _Ace of Spades_! It's a doggone insult! I didn'tknow it at the time, havin' only a couple of drinks, an' too sober tojudge a insult when I seen one. But it's different now, I can see it inthe dark. I'm a-goin' in there an'--an' twist his nose off an' feed itto him. But first I got to find old Bat. He's an Injun, but he's a goodold scout, an' I hate to think of him walkin' all the way to Montanawhile some damn Greaser is spendin' my hard earned samolians that I givehim for carfare. It's a long walk to Montana. Plumb through Coloradoan' Wyomin' an'--an' New Jersey, or somewheres. Mebbe he's in there now.As they say in the Bible, or somewheres, you got to hunt for a thingwhere you find it, or something. Hold still, there you black devil you!What you want to stand there spinnin' 'round like a top for? You be'ndrinkin', you doggone old ringtail! What was I goin' to do, now. Oh,yes, twist Patty's nose, an' find Bat an' shoot at his ears a while, an'make him get his ticket to New Jersey an'----
"This is a blame slow old town, she needs wakin' up, anyhow. If I ridein that door I'll get scraped off like mud off a boot."
He spurred the black and brought him up with a jerk beside the sorrelwhich snorted and reared back, snapping the reins with which he had beentied, and stood with distended nostrils sniffing inquiringly at Ace ofSpades as the cowpuncher swung to the ground.
"Woke up, didn't you, you old stager? Y'ain't so bad lookin' when you'realive. Patty'll have to get him a new pair of bridle reins. Mebbe thewhole town'll look better if it's woke up some.
"Y-e-e-e-e-o-w! Cowboys a-comin'!"
A citizen or two paused on the street corner, a few Mexicans grinned asthey drew back to allow the Gringo free access to the saloon, and aswarthy figure slipped unobserved across the street and blended into theshadow of the adobe wall.
"O-o-o-o-o-h, the yaller r-o-s-e of Texas!" sang the cowpuncher, withjoyous vehemence. As he stepped into the room, his eyes swept the facesof the gamblers and again he burst into vociferous song:
"O-o-o-o-o-h, w-h-e-r-e is my wanderin' b-o-y tonight?"
"Hey, you! Whad'ye think this is, a camp meetin'?"
The Texan faced the speaker. "Well, if it ain't my old college chum!Fatty, I stopped in a purpose to see you. An' besides which, by theunalien rights of the Constitution an' By-laws of this here United Statesof Texas, a man's got a right to sing whatever song suits himirregardless of sex or opportunity." The other glared malevolently asthe cowpuncher approached the bar with a grin. "Don't bite yourself an'die of hydrophobia before your eggication is complete, which it ain'ttill you've learnt never to insult no Texas man by offerin' to trade norat-tailed, ewe-necked old buzzard fodder fer a top Texas horse.
"Drop that mallet! An' don't go reachin-' around in under that bar,'cause if you find what you're huntin' fer you're a-goin' to see feryourself if every cloud's got a silver linin'. 'Tend to business now,an' set out a bottle of your famous ol' Las Vegas stummick shellac an'while I'm imbibin' of it
s umbilical ambrosier, I'll jest onscrew yournose an' feed it to the cat."
Sweat stood out upon the forehead of the heavy-paunched proprietor aswith a flabby-faced grin he set out the bottle. But the Texan caught thesnake-like flash of the eyes with which the man signalled to the croupieracross the room. Gun in hand, he whirled:
"No, you don't, Toney!" An ugly blue-black automatic dropped to thefloor and the croupier's hands flew ceilingward.
"I never seen such an outfit to be always a-reachin'," grinned thecowpuncher. "Well, if there ain't the ol' eagle-bird wheel! Give her aspin, Toney! They say you can't hit an eagle on the fly with a six-gun,but I'm willin' to try! Spin her good, 'cause I don't want no onfairadvantage of that there noble bird. Stand back, Greasers, so you don'tget nicked!"
As the croupier spun the wheel, three shots rang in an almost continuousexplosion and the gamblers fell over each other in an effort to dodge theflying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air.
"Little black bull slid down the mountain, L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago!"
roared the Texan as he threw open the cylinder of his gun.
"H-e-e-e-e scraped his horn on a hickory saplin', L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago----"
There was a sudden commotion behind him, a swift rush of feet, a muffledthud, and a gasping, agonized grunt. The next instant the huge acetelynelamp that lighted the room fell to the floor with a crash and the placewas plunged in darkness.
"Queek, m's'u, dees way!" a hand grasped his wrist and the cowpuncherfelt himself drawn swiftly toward the door. From all sides sounded thescuffling of straining men who breathed heavily as they fought in theblackness.
A thin red flame cut the air and a shot rang sharp. Someone screamed anda string of Spanish curses blended into the hubbub of turmoil.
"De hosses, queek, m's'u!"
The cool air of the street fanned the Texan's face as he leaped acrossthe sidewalk, and vaulted into the saddle. The next moment the big blackwas pounding the roadway neck and neck with another, smaller horse uponwhich the half-breed swayed in the saddle with the ease and grace of theloose-rein rider born.
It was broad daylight when the cowpuncher opened his eyes in an arroyodeep among the hills far, far from Las Vegas. He rubbed his foreheadtenderly, and crawling to a spring a few feet distant, buried his face inthe tiny pool and drank deeply of the refreshing liquid. Verydeliberately he dried his face on a blue handkerchief, and fumbled in hispockets for papers and tobacco. As he blew the grey smoke from hisnostrils he watched the half-breed who sat nearby industriously splicinga pair of broken bridle reins.
"Did you get that ticket, Bat?" he asked, with a hand pressed tightlyagainst his aching forehead.
The other grinned. "Me, A'm no wan' no ticket. A'm lak A'm stay wit'you, an' mebbe-so we git de job togedder."
The cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence.
"What was the rookus last night?" he asked, indifferently. Then,suddenly, his eye fell upon the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of alariat rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to his feet. "Where'dyou get that horse?" he exclaimed sharply. "It's Fatty's! There's thereins he busted when he snorted loose!"
Again the half-breed grinned. "A'm bor' dat hoss for com' 'long wit'you. Dat Fatty, she damn bad man. She try for keel you w'en you tak' deshot at de wheel. A'm com' 'long dat time an' A'm keek heem in de gutsan' he roll 'roun' on de floor, an' A'm t'row de bottle of wheesky an'smash de beeg lamp an' we com' 'long out of dere." The cowpuncher tossedhis cigarette away and spat upon the ground.
"How'd you happen to come in there so handy just at the right time?" heasked with a sidewise glance at the half-breed.
"Oh, A'm fol' you long tam'. A'm t'ink mebbe-so you git l'il too moochhooch an' som'one try for do you oop. A'm p'ek in de door an' seen Fattygon' shoot you. Dat mak' me mad lak hell, an' A'm run oop an' keek heemso hard I kin on hees belly. You ma frien'. A'm no lak I seen you gitkeel."
The Texan nodded. "I see. You're a damn good Injun, Bat, an' I ain'tgot no kick comin' onto the way you took charge of proceedin's. But yousure raised hell when you stole that horse. They's prob'ly aboutthirty-seven men an' a sheriff a-combin' these here hills fer us at thispartic'lar minute an' when they catch us----"
The half-breed laughed. "Dem no ketch. We com' feefty mile. Dat leetlehoss she damn good hoss. We got de two bes' hoss. We ke'p goin' dey noketch. 'Spose dey do ketch. Me, A'm tell 'em A'm steal dat hoss an' younot know nuthin' 'bout dat."
There was a twinkle in the Texan's eye as he yawned and stretchedprodigiously. "An' I'll tell 'em you're the damnedest liar in the stateof Texas an' North America throw'd in. Come on, now, you throw theshells on them horses an' we'll be scratchin' gravel. Fifty miles ain'tno hell of a ways--my throat's beginnin' to feel kind of draw'd already."
"W'er' we goin'?" asked the half-breed as they swung into the saddles.
"Bat," said the other, solemnly, "me an' you is goin' fast, an' we'regoin' a long time. You mentioned somethin' about Montana bein'considerable of a cow country. Well, me an' you is a-goin' North--as farNorth as cattle is--an' we're right now on our way!"
The Texan Page 1