The Texan
Page 21
AN EPILOGUE
At exactly half-past four the Texan galloped to the door of the RedFront Saloon, and swinging from his horse, entered. Some men wereplaying cards at a table in the rear, but he paid them no heed. Verydeliberately he squared himself to the bar and placed his foot upon thebrass rail: "Give me some red liquor," he ordered. And when thebartender set out the bottle and the glass the cowboy poured it fulland drank it at a gulp. He poured out another, and then a third, and afourth. The bartender eyed him narrowly: "Ain't you goin' it a littlestrong, pardner?" he asked. The Texan stared at him as if he had notheard, and answered nothing. A smile bent the white aproned one's lipsas he glanced into his customer's eyes still black from the blow Curthad dealt him in the coulee.
"Them lamps of yourn was turned up too high, wasn't they?" he asked.
The cowboy nodded, thoughtfully: "Yes, that's it. They was turned uptoo high--a damn sight too high for me, I reckon."
"Git bucked off?"
The blackened eyes narrowed ever so slightly: "No. A guard done that."
"A guard?"
"Yes, a guard." The Texan poured out his fifth drink. "In the pen, itwas."
"In the pen!" The bartender was itching with curiosity. "You don'tlook like a jail-bird. They musta got the wrong guy?" he suggested.
"No. I killed him, all right. I shot his ears off first, an' thenplugged him between the eyes before he could draw. It was fun. I canshoot straight as hell--an' quick! See that mouse over by the wall?"Before the words were out of his mouth his Colt roared. The bartenderstared wide-eyed at the ragged bit of fur and blood that was plasteredagainst the base-board where a moment before a small mouse had beennibbling a bit of cheese. The men at the card table paused, looked up,and resumed their game.
"Man, that's shootin'!" he exclaimed. "Have one on me! This geezerthat you bumped off--self defence, I s'pose?"
"No. He was a bar-keep over on the Marias. He made the mistake oftakin' ondue notice of a pair of black eyes I'd got--somehow theylooked mirthful to him, an'--" The Texan paused and gazedreproachfully toward a flick of a white apron as the loquacious onedisappeared through the back door.
A loud shouting and a rattling of wheels sounded from without. Thecard game broke up, and the players slouched out the door. Through thewindow the Texan watched the stage pull up at the hotel, watched theexpress box swung off, and the barn-dogs change the horses; saw theexchange of pouches at the post office; saw the stage pull out slowlyand stop before a little white cottage next door to the steeplelesschurch. Then he reached for the bottle, poured another drink, anddrank it very slowly. Through the open door came the far-away rattleof wheels. He tossed some money onto the bar, walked to the door, andstood gazing down the trail toward the cloud of grey dust that grewdimmer and dimmer in the distance. At last, it disappeared altogether,and only the trail remained, winding like a great grey serpent towardthe distant black buttes of the Judith Range. He started to re-enterthe saloon, paused with his foot on the threshold and stared down theempty trail, then facing abruptly about he swung into the saddle,turned his horse's head northward, and rode slowly out of town. At thelittle creek he paused and stared into the piney woods. A tiny whiteflower lay, where it had been dropped in the trail, at the feet of hishorse, and he swung low and recovered it. For a long time he satholding the little blossom in his hand. Gently he drew it across hischeek. He remembered--and the memory hurt--that the last time he hadreached from the saddle had been to snatch _her_ handkerchief from theground, and he had been just the fraction of a second too late.
"My luck's runnin' mighty low," he muttered softly, and threw back hisshoulders, as his teeth gritted hard, "but I'm still in the game, an'maybe this will change it." Very carefully, very tenderly, he placedthe blossom beneath the band inside his hat. "I must go an' hunt forBat, the old renegade! If anything's happened to him--if that damnedLong Bill has laid for him--I will kill a man, sure enough." Hegathered up his reins and rode on up the trail, and as he rode theshadows lengthened. Only once he paused and looked backward at thelittle ugly white town. Before him the trail dipped into a wide valleyand he rode on. And, as the feet of his horse thudded softly in thegrey dust of the trail, the sound blended with the low, wailing chantof the mournful dirge of the plains:
"O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild coyotes will howl o'er me, Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free, O bury me not on the lone prairie."