Читать книгу The Orphan - Clarence Edward Mulford - Страница 6

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BILL HOWLAND emerged from the six-by-six office of the F. S. and S. Stage Company and strolled down the street to where his Concord stood. He hitched up and, after examining the harness, gained his seat, gathered up the lines and yelled. There was a lurch and a rumble, and Bill turned the corner on two wheels to the gratification of sundry stray dogs, whose gratification turned to yelps of surprise and pain as the driver neatly flecked bits of hair from their bodies with his sixteen foot “blacksnake.” Twice each week Bill drove his Concord around the same corner on the same two wheels and flecked bits of hair from stray dogs with the same whip. He would have been deeply grieved if the supply of new stray dogs gave out, for no dogs were ever known to get close enough to be skinned the second time; once was enough, and those which had felt the sting of Bill’s leather were content to stand across the street and create the necessary excitement to urge the new arrivals forward. The local wit is reported as saying: “Dogs may come and dogs may go, but Bill goes on forever,” which saying pleased Bill greatly.

As he threw the mail bag on the seat the sheriff came up and watched him, his eyes a-twinkle with humor.

“Well, Sheriff, how’s the boy?” genially asked Bill, who could talk all day on anything and two days on nothing without fatigue.

“All right, Bill, thank you,” the sheriff replied. “I hope you are able to take something more than liquid nourishment,” he added.

“Oh, you trust me for that, Sheriff. When my appetite gives out I’ll be ready to plant. I see your ear is some smaller. Blamed funny how they do swell sometimes,” remarked the driver, loosening his collar.

The sheriff knew what that action meant and hurried to break the thread of the conversation.

“New wheel?” he asked, eying what he knew to be old.

“Nope, painted, that’s all,” the driver replied, grinning. “But she shore does look new, don’t she? You see, Dick put in two new spokes yesterday, and when I saw ’em I says, says I, ‘Dick, that new wheel don’t look good thataway,’ says I. ‘It’ll look like a limp, them new spokes coming ’round all alone like,’ says I. So we paints it, but we didn’t have time to paint the others, but they won’t make much difference, anyhow. Funny how a little paint will change things, now ain’t it? Why, I can remember when––-”

“Much mail nowadays?” interposed the sheriff calmly.

“Nope. Folks out here ain’t a-helpin’ Uncle Sam much. Postmaster says he only sold ten stamps this week. What he wants, as I told him, is women. Then everybody’ll be sendin’ letters and presents and things. Now, I knows what I’m talking about, because––-”

“The Apaches are out,” jabbed the sheriff, hopefully.

“Yes, I heard that you had a soiree with them. But they won’t get so far north as this. No, siree, they won’t. They knows too much, Apaches do. Ain’t they smart cusses, though? Now, there’s old Geronimo–been raising the devil for years. The cavalry goes out for him regular, and shore thinks he’s caught, but he ain’t. When he’s found he’s home smoking his pipe and counting his wives, which are shore numerous, they say. Now, I’ve got a bully scheme for getting him, Sheriff––”

“Hey, you,” came from the office. “Do you reckon that train is going to tie up and wait for you, hey? Do you think you are so d––d important that they won’t pull out unless you’re on hand? Why in h–l don’t you quit chinning and get started?”

“Oh, you choke up!” cried Bill, clambering up to his seat. “Who’s running this, anyhow!” he grumbled under his breath. Then he took up the reins and carefully sorted them, after which he looked down at Shields, whose face wore a smile of amusement.

“Bill Howland ain’t none a-scared because a lot of calamity howlers get a hunch. Not on your life! I’ve reached the high C of rollicking progress too many times to be airy scairt at rumors. Show me the feather-dusters in war paint, and then I’ll take some stock in raids. You get up a bet on me Sheriff, make a little easy money. Back Bill Howland to be right here in seventy-two hours, right side up and smiling, and you’ll win. You just bet you’ll––”

“Well, you won’t get here in a year unless you starts, you pest! For God’s sake get a-going and give the sheriff a rest!” came explosively from the office, accompanied by a sound as if a chair had dropped to its four legs. A tall, angular man stood in the doorway and shook his fist at the huge cloud of dust which rolled down the street, muttering savagely. Bill Howland had started on his eighty-mile trip to Sagetown.

“Damnedest talker on two laigs,” asserted the clerk. “He’ll drive me loco some day with his eternal jabber, jabber. Why do you waste time with him? Tell him to close his yap and go to h–l. Beat him over the head, anything to shut him up!”

Shields smiled: “Oh, he can’t help it. He don’t do anybody any harm.”

The clerk shook his head in doubt and started to return to his chair, and then stopped.

“I hear you expect some women out purty soon,” he suggested.

“Yes. Sisters and a friend,” Shields replied shortly.

“Ain’t you a little leary about letting ’em come out here while the Apaches are out?”

“Not very much–I’ll be on hand when they arrive,” the sheriff assured him.

“How soon are they due to land?”

“Next trip if nothing hinders them.”

“Jim Hawes is comin’ out next trip,” volunteered the clerk.

“Good,” responded the sheriff, turning to go. “Every gun counts, and Jim is a good man.”

“Say,” the agent was lonesome, “I heard down at the Oasis last night that The Orphant was seen out near the Cross Bar-8 yesterday. He ought to get shot, d––n him! But that’s a purty big contract, I reckon. They say he can shoot like the very devil.”

“They’re right, he can,” Shields replied. “Everybody knows that.”

“Charley seems to be in a hurry,” remarked the agent, looking down the street at a cowboy, a friend of the sheriff, who was coming at a dead gallop. The sheriff looked and Charley waved his arm. As he came within hailing distance he shouted:

“The Orphan killed Jimmy Ford this morning on Twenty Mile Trail! His pardner got away by shootin’ The Orphan’s horse and taking to the trail through Little Arroyo. But he’s shot, just the same, ’though not bad. The rest of the Cross Bar-8 outfit are going out for him; they’ve been out, but they can’t follow his trail.”

“Hell!” cried the sheriff, running toward his corral. “Wait!” he shouted over his shoulder as he turned the corner. In less than five minutes he was back again, and on his best horse, and following the impatient cowboy, swung down the street at a gallop in the direction of Twenty Mile Trail.

As they left the town behind and swung through the arroyo leading to the Limping Water, through which the stage route lay, Charley began to speak again:

“Jimmy and Pete Carson were taking a rest in the shade of the chaparral and playin’ old sledge, when they looked up and saw The Orphan looking down at them. They’re rather easy-going, and so they asked him to take a hand. He said he would, and got off his cayuse and sat down with them. Jimmy started a new deal, but The Orphan objected to old sledge and wanted poker, at the same time throwing a bag of dust down in front of him. Jimmy looked at Pete, who nodded, and put his wealth in front of him. Well, they played along for a while, and The Orphan began to have great luck. When he had won five straight jack pots it was more than Jimmy could stand, him being young and hasty. He saw his new Cheyenne saddle, what he was going to buy, getting further away all the time, and he yelled ‘Cheat!’ grabbing for his gun, what was plumb crazy for him to do.

“The Orphan fired from his hip quick as a wink, and Jimmy fell back just as Pete drew. The Orphan swung on him and ordered him to drop his gun, which same Pete did, being sick at the stomach at Jimmy’s passing. Then The Orphan told him to take his dirty money and his cheap life and go back to his mamma. Pete didn’t stop none to argue, but mounted and rode away. But the fool wasn’t satisfied at having a whole skin after a run-in with The Orphan, and when he got off about four hundred yards and right on the edge of Little Arroyo, where he could get cover in one jump, he up and let drive, killing The Orphan’s horse. Pete got two holes in his shoulder before he could get out of sight, and he remembered that his shot had hardly left his gun before he had ’em, too. Pete says he wonders how in h–l The Orphan could shoot twice so quick, when his gun’s a Sharp’s single shot.”

Shields was pleased with the knowledge that it was not a plain murder this time, and fell to wondering if the other killings in which The Orphan had figured had not in a measure been justified. Hearsay cried “Murderer,” but his own personal experience denied the term. Did not The Orphan know that Shields was after him, and that the sheriff was no man to be taken lightly when he had shown mercy near the big bowlder? The outlaw must be fair and square, reasoned the sheriff, else he would not have looked for those qualities in another, and least of all in an enemy. The outlaw had given him plenty of chances to kill and had thought nothing of it, time and time again turning his back without hesitation. True, The Orphan had covered him when his hand had streaked for his tobacco; but the sheriff would have done the same, because the movement was decidedly hostile, and he had been fortunate in not having paid dearly for his rash action. The Orphan had taken a chance when he refrained from pulling the trigger.

Charley continued: “Jimmy’s outfit swear they’ll have a lynchin’ bee to square things for the Kid. They are plumb crazy about it. Jimmy was a whole lot liked by them, and the foreman is going to give them a week off with no questions asked. They are getting things ready now.”

The sheriff turned to his companion, his hazel eyes aflame with anger at this threat of lynching when he had given plain warning that such lawlessness would not for one minute be tolerated by him.

“We’ll call on the Cross Bar-8 first, Charley, and find out when this lynching bee is due to come off,” he said, turning toward the northwest. Charley looked surprised at the sudden change in the plans, but followed without comment, secretly glad that trouble was in store for the ranch he had no use for.

After an hour of fast riding they rode up to the corral of the Cross Bar-8, and Shields, seeing a cowboy busily engaged in cleaning a rifle, asked for Sneed, at the same time making a mental note of the preparations which were going on about him.

The foreman, as if in answer to the sheriff’s words, walked into sight around the corral wall and stepped forward eagerly when he saw who the caller was.

“I see that you know all about it, Sheriff,” he began, hastily. “I’ve just told the boys that they can go out for him,” he continued. “They’re getting ready now, and will soon be on his trail.”