Читать книгу The Gambler - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 8

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Corcoran now dismounted and took his place beside the general and the general’s associate, a thick-necked, wide-shouldered boy with the strength of a young bull. But his narrow forehead revealed his weakness. He was simply a faithful dog, a worshiper of the shining greatness of Ralph Cromarty. His eyes were never off that eminent commander. The lightest wish of the great man was instantly foreseen and fulfilled so far as it lay in his power.

From the place which Cromarty selected, young “Bud” Saunders hastened to kick away the fallen twigs. He himself sat down near by, at such an angle that he could command a constant view of the features of Ralph.

After the debate they sat for a time in a pleasant quiet. The wind fanned their faces cool until the perspiration raised by the talk had been dried. Then it fanned them hot again. The spotted shade fell over them. Now and again a leaf came whispering to the ground. And a squirrel chattered far up among the branches.

San Pablo lay near at hand and beneath them, its white walls shining in the slant sun of the late afternoon, and around the true city was the broad, raw band of shacks and tents; and beyond the town the wagons rumbled forth and rumbled back. One could cant an ear through the silence and hear the muttering of wheels over the bridge which spanned the Mirraquipa and joined the two halves of San Pablo.

“And when you get Willie?” asked Corcoran.

There was a long-drawn sigh. Such a breath is inhaled by the pilgrim who sees, at last, the fabled domes of Mecca rising in the blue of the evening.

“When we get him?”

“What will you do with him?”

“Mr. Corcoran, what won’t we do to him? I’ve figgered out some of the things that I’ll do. I dunno about the rest. I guess that they all got their own ideas.”

“How about it, Bud?”

Bud lifted up his brutal young face and a grin wrinkled his very eyes until they were shut.

“I know what I’ll do,” he said slowly.

“Did he ever tackle you, Bud?”

“I was in swimmin’, once,” said Bud thoughtfully, shying a pebble at a distance twig and hitting it fairly in the center. “I was all alone down at the swimmin’ hole. I’d dived. Before I could come up, I seen something white and shinin’ slide into the water right over my head. Then a couple of hands grabbed me by the neck. Look how he had me! I was down. I didn’t have no chance. I dog-goned near strangled. I fought and kicked, but he just held me tight and there wasn’t nothin’ that I could do. Pretty soon things got all black in front of me. Then this here gent that had grabbed me pulled me ashore and left me there trying’ to choke down some air and feelin’ pretty sick.”

“That was Willie Kern?”

“That was Willie,” said the boy.

“If you didn’t see him, how can you be sure?”

The two boys exchanged eloquent glances.

“That was Willie,” said Ralph Cromarty. “It ain’t so much what was done to Bud. It was the way he done it. Pretty near any other boy would of been afraid of killin’ Bud by holding him under the water so long. But Willie, he always knows just how far he can go. I tell you, Mr. Corcoran, he’s a bad ’un!”

“However,” said Corcoran, “we’ll soon have an end of your troubles with him. Now that there’s a ten-dollar reward out for him, and now that we’ve divided our company up into half a dozen sections, we’re sure to rout him out of his hiding place.”

“Darn!” said Ralph Cromarty, as a small twig which had been loosened from the limb of the tree just above him dropped fairly down his neck.

Reaching one active hand as far down his back as he could stretch his arm, he voluntarily looked up. What he saw brought a look of horror and fear and bewilderment upon his face and Corcoran, flashing a glance up in the same direction beheld a ragged youngster hanging at full length of his arms directly above the captain of the boys. How he could have come here was indeed a mystery. In the quiet hour of the day it seemed impossible that any living thing could have moved down the trunk or along the branches of the big old tree without raising a sufficient disturbance to rouse their attention. Even the light-footed scampering of the tree squirrel made enough scratching on the bark to be heard by their sharp ears. Yet there was the boy, and he must have maneuvered his way down from near the top of the tree. A few instants before, that same branch had been occupied by members of the Cromarty gang. Now this cat-like youth had occupied the position of advantage.

These reflections, of course, went through the mind of Corcoran like a flash of light. In the same brief glance he could take note, also, of the lithe young body, the wiry muscles which stood out in strings along the brown arms of the boy, a pair of brilliant blue eyes, a flaring shock of red hair—the color of flame—and an expression of wonderful malignancy on the face of the youngster.

There was only time for this impression in the split part of a second during which Corcoran could look up. Then the impending weight slipped its hands from the limb and dropped. Poor Ralph Cromarty had not time to stir. Like the prehensile feet and the agile rear limbs of an ape, so the feet and the legs of the assailant wound around the body of Ralph while the shock of that falling weight flattened the latter on the ground and knocked every vestige of breath out of his lungs. Above him, for an instant, squatted the redheaded monkey from the tree, one hard fist poised for a finishing blow, until he saw that his enemy was indeed helpless and hopeless beneath him. Then he swerved to his feet to meet the rush of stalwart Buddie Saunders.

That young hero, stunned by this sudden apparition and the fall of his idol, had finally lurched to his feet and charged like a bull, his head down, his fists projecting past it like horns. Midway to his goal he struck the redheaded boy.

All that happened even the quick eye of Corcoran could not follow. He saw the newcomer leap into the air like a cat and land on Buddie with clinging legs and darting fists. He saw the two go to the ground and roll over and over. He caught glimpses of the face of Bud, horrified, struck with pain. They bounded to their feet again, but all the heart for an assault was gone from Bud Saunders. He fled with a wild yell streaming through the air behind him and leaving his beloved commander to fight the whole battle singlehanded.

Worthily did Ralph Cromarty stand up to his reputation on this day! He arose with the breath still more than half battered from his body, gasping, his eyes bewildered by shock. Nevertheless, having made out the form of his antagonist, he assumed a fighting attitude, set his jaw, and waited for the worst with the patient silence of a man.

But the redheaded terror had no apparent desire to finish the battle at a stroke. He danced before Ralph and struck him across the face with his open hand. The return blow was a wild and roundabout swing. Then the young warrior danced back again out of harm’s way.

“Get your wind back ag’in, Ralph,” he said. “I ain’t aimin’ to lick you when you ain’t got a chance. When you’re ready, say when. But now I got you alone, Cromarty, and dog-gone me if we ain’t goin’ to have it out.”

Cromarty nodded. He leaned one hand again the tree and with bowed head hung there panting for a long moment. During this interval, the young stranger folded his arms and waited, but his mind was not inactive. Corcoran could see those dashing blue eyes scan the ground as though sapping all of its inequalities, taking heed of every detail near by saving, apparently, of Corcoran himself. Of the grown man this little destroyer remained perfectly oblivious.

Now Ralph Cromarty stood forth again, drawing a last deep breath. They cast their defiance in the teeth of one another like another fleet-footed Achilles, and another large Hector, tamer of horses.

“Are you ready to take your lickin’ now, Ralph?” asked he of the redhead, tucking up the ragged sleeves which half masked his brown, strong arms.

“Son,” said Ralph magnificently, “when I get through with you, I’m goin’ to have you lookin’ worse’n dog meat!”

He looked, in fact, as though it lay in his power to execute his threat. He was taller, broader, in every way heavier than his opponent, and his strength was seasoned by the advantage of a vital year or two in age. To balance against this, there was only the activity of the redheaded hero and the flame in his blue eye. It seemed to Corcoran that a single blow must crush the smaller boy. But this was before the action commenced.

“Start in,” said the younger of the two. “I’m waitin’ for the old windmill to start turnin’.”

“You’ll be hollering out of the other side of your mouth,” said Cromarty, “before I’m done with you.”

“You?” said he of the redhead and the dancing eyes. “The way I get exercise is beatin’ up a couple like you every day before breakfast.”

“You pug-nosed runt!” sneered Ralph.

“Son,” said the other, “I’m gonna soak you on your own nose for that!”

And he did. The brown flash of his fist was as inescapable as a rifle bullet. It crunched against the nose of Cromarty and sent a red stream spouting over his mouth and chin. Cromarty smote in turn, so heartily that he closed his eyes with the effort. The redhead bobbed to one side; by a fraction of an inch that tremendous swing missed its target. Corcoran sat up to watch.

“Your kid brother,” said the redhead, “I made a mistake on. I only done up one of his eyes. I’ll fix both of yours, you lop-sided—”

Ralph Cromarty charged into two stinging fists, one upon either eye, and stepped back again, blinking, already half blind. He lurched forward once more. Again that unerring tattoo, the lithe brown arms whipping home as straight as a pitcher throws a baseball, and landing with a spat as the ball lands in the catcher’s glove.

“Stand still and fight!” shouted Cromarty, charging through thin air heavily laden with jarring fists. “I’ll give you a quarter if you’ll stand still!”

“I’ll take the quarter without askin’!” snarled the redhead, and leaped at his foe.

They turned into a blurred whirl of struggling young bodies. It lasted only half a minute. At the end of that time Ralph Cromarty, with a crimson-stained face, lay on his back on the ground and the imp sat on his chest with raised fist.

“D’you give up?” he asked.

“You be darned!” groaned Ralph.

The fist descended with a thud.

“D’you give up?”

“I’ll kill you!” screamed poor Ralph impotently.

The fist poised ominously.

“Wait a moment, my friend!” said Corcoran.

The redhead turned to him. For the first time the blue eyes rested fixedly upon him.

“Are you dealin’ this hand?” asked the conqueror.

“I think,” said Corcoran, “that you’ve forgotten something.”

“His left eye, maybe,” answered the redhead thoughtfully.

“In my part of the country, they never hit a man who’s down.”

The boy flushed to the eyes; then he leaped to his feet.

“Cromarty,” he cried, his eyes on fire, “if I ain’t been fair with you, you can take a free wallop at me.”

But Cromarty rose stumbling.

“I dunno,” he said feebly. “I don’t see you clear enough to hit you.”

“Go tell the rest of ’em that you found me, then,” said the victor. “You ain’t only a start for me. I want to get warmed up to-day.”