Читать книгу The Iron Trail - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 7
ОглавлениеStew for Three
“You first,” said McKenzie to Clewes, adding softly in his throat, “Why not drill the skunk clean, while I got the chance?”
But he did not “drill the skunk.” As Eddie stepped from his hiding place, he felt the big shadow of McKenzie striding out softly behind him.
“And how are you, Mack?” asked Delehanty, a grin on his broad, ugly face.
“Tolerable,” said McKenzie, “but I ain’t forgetful.”
“You mean that day in Phoenix? It was a joke, Mack. Nothin’ to stand between the likes of us! Gimme your hand, old boy.”
“Humph!” grunted McKenzie. “Well, here’s my hand!”
Their right hands closed and remained for a moment gripped. It was no casual salute, for Clewes could see their shoulders lower a trifle, and a tremor as of wind shaking their sleeves, so he knew that every ounce of power in their bodies was being used to crush the hand of the other man. Their jaws were set. Their eyes were flashing.
But suddenly each seemed to realize that he had met his equal, and their fingers parted.
“And him?” said Delehanty, flirting a thumb in the direction of Clewes.
“Him? Oh, he’s nothing!” remarked McKenzie with a shrug of the shoulders. “But he’ll do to tend the fire, y’understand? Fetch up some more wood, kid!”
There was no trace of an unnecessary pride in Clewes; besides, he felt that he was witnessing moments big with possibilities and he would not have changed his position with another, no matter what danger might be here.
So, gathering the wood and bringing it back, he smiled as he watched the two big men sidling toward the fire, each mortally afraid that he might be forced for a single instant to put himself out of position for quick and accurate gunplay, each with muscles tensed and eyes alert.
“Chicken, eh?” said Delehanty, inhaling the flavor of the pot.
“Chicken, old-timer. I just lifted a rooster while I was coming up the valley. But I’m short on bread and stuff to sop up the gravy.”
“Send the kid to fetch in my horse. I got plenty of stuff in my pack.”
“Ay, and suppose that the kid takes the horse and don’t come back?”
“I’ll fix that. Come here, kid!”
Clewes stood obediently before this new taskmaster, and he was met by a beetling scowl.
“D’you know me, Skinny?” asked the big man.
“I heard McKenzie call you Delehanty.”
“And what does that mean to you?”
“Nothing,” said Clewes, covering a little yawn.
But he missed nothing, no matter how careless he might seem. He saw the glitter of satisfaction and the quickly swallowed smile of McKenzie. He saw the darkening of the face of Delehanty.
“I’ll tell you what I am,” said Delehanty. “I’m a kind of concentrated poison for skunks. You remember that, y’understand? And if you was to try tricks with that mare of mine—why, I’d get you, kid, if it took me a million years. Have you got that?”
“How about it, McKenzie?” asked Clewes. “Is this fellow windjamming or talking sense?”
It brought a snarl from Delehanty, but McKenzie could not help chuckling.
“Leave him be, Delehanty,” said he. “The kid will do. Green, but cool, I’d call him. You fetch in the mare, son!”
So Eddie Clewes went to bring Delehanty’s mare. He found a magnificent creature, a bit heavy and “coachy” in type, but none too strong to bear the massive bulk of such a man as its rider. The mare was covered with sweat, and still she stood with her head hanging a little, not yet blown out.
The active hands of Clewes dipped quick as light into the saddlebags as he led her in.
A rifle in the boot, a pair of revolvers in the saddle holsters, some pounds of extra ammunition—and then, under the flap of the saddle, a flat compartment which seemed to be filled with solid strips of something like stacks of paper—
The heart of Eddie Clewes rose into his throat, steady though his nerves usually were.
But then he turned and led the mare on toward the clearing.
He found Delehanty already half risen from his place, in a towering fit of excitement.
“What you been doing? What you been doing?” he bellowed. “Asking her her name?”
“She’s so winded that she would hardly come along for me,” said Clewes quietly. “Now what do you want from the pack?”
“Don’t ride the kid. He ain’t a bad kid,” said McKenzie.
“Aw, damn him,” shouted Delehanty. “He’s got too much lip to suit me. I say, bring the whole saddle over here, and bring it quick, and turn the mare loose. She won’t run away. She knows me!”
While Clewes executed these orders without complaint, McKenzie was remarking, “You didn’t miss any time up the valley, Delehanty.”
“How d’you know that I came up the valley?” asked Delehanty, peering at the stew.
“I only guess,” said McKenzie. “Because I know that you didn’t come down it. But you’ve rode her pretty hard, old-timer! You’re gunna rub her as thin as nothing at all, if you keep up this lick!”
“What’s a horse for?” asked Delehanty, taking the saddle which Eddie Clewes brought to him. “Is it for a mantel ornament, maybe? No, it’s something to be used. And when one is rubbed thin, as you call it, there is plenty more. Besides, that’s a high-headed fool of a mare that ain’t got any sense in her feet. All she wants to do is to run herself to death for you, and if anything comes into her way, she’ll fall over it! I’ll be glad to be done with her! Hey—gimme!”
He snatched the saddle from the hands of Clewes without thanks, and presently he produced from the capacious pack bread and jam and other delicacies and necessaries for the feast.
In another moment they were eating. Clewes, according to instructions, had scoured out two tins for the big men, but while he was cleaning out his own, the vast throat of Delehanty had finished his own share and he still hungered for more.
“Hey, but the kid has a share coming,” suggested McKenzie, softly.
“Damn the kid,” said the broad-minded Delehanty. “It don’t take more than a couple of crumbs of bread to fill up a splinter like him. But you and me, we’re man-sized, and we got work ahead of us, maybe!”
“Ay, maybe we have,” growled McKenzie, and he willingly accepted his half of the remaining share.
Now, this conversation had reached the ear of Eddie Clewes, for his hearing was just a little sharper than the ear of a fox. And yet he came and stood as one surprised over the empty pot.
“Well, well,” chuckled Clewes, as one greatly amused, “this is a very neat one on me! There’s bread left, though, and coffee—and that’s enough for me.”
And he sat down, apparently as contented as could be.
Eating had been going on at a rate that made talk impossible for the last few moments, and now it was Clewes that picked up the ball and started it rolling once more.
He said: “What’s your line, Delehanty? Road work? Or what?”
Delehanty moved his head a trifle and flashed his little black eye at his questioner.
“You ought to teach the kid manners, Mack,” said he.
“Leave him be,” grinned McKenzie. “He’s making no trouble, and you can’t keep a tongue from clacking a little, now and then!”
“You can’t,” agreed Delehanty, “and that’s the trouble of it. The wife, she and me never hit it off for that reason!”
“Hey, Delehanty! Married?”
“Me? Sure. A long time ago.”
“I never heard that.”
“No. She got sick and up and died on me,” said Delehanty and he fixed his glance so gloomily and so steadily on the other that there was no more talk on this subject.
Vague suggestions of the possible truth rose into the mind of Eddie Clewes. But what he chiefly wondered at was the blatant brutality of this man, who threw out a hint of wife murder as carelessly as he might have spoken of kicking a mad dog.
“Or,” went on Clewes, pursuing his talk where it had been interrupted, “are you heavier on safe-blowing?”
“He still talks,” complained Delehanty, looking at McKenzie as if asking for a suggestion.
“Let him yap,” said McKenzie comfortably. “Words, they ain’t poison.”
“I’ve heard some that was,” said Delehanty. “And this kid, he’s too smart. I ain’t a booster for smartness, old-timer. Hand me a chunk of that bread. Well, kid, are you gunna hand me some advice about my work?”
“Advice? Oh, no,” said Clewes. “Of course, you’ll be getting your instruction from headquarters, now.”
“What headquarters?” asked Delehanty, turning his head so sharply that the great cords of his neck were thrown out into a bold relief.
“I mean, the big man—I mean the boss,” said Clewes.
“Boss?” echoed Mr. Delehanty. “Since I was fifteen I never worked for no boss. What are you driving at?”
“All right! All right!” said Clewes. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I only supposed that you would be proud to take lessons from McKenzie.”
Delehanty fixed a grim regard upon the youth. But the face of Eddie Clewes was as smiling and open as day itself.
“Me proud to take lessons?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Now, kid,” said Delehanty, leaning an elbow upon one knee, and glaring alternately at McKenzie and Clewes, “what has McKenzie been telling you that he has given me lessons in?”
