Читать книгу Timber-Wolf - Jackson Gregory - Страница 3

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Big Pine, tiny human outpost set well within the rim of the great southwestern wilderness country, was, like other aloof mountain settlements of its type, a place of infinite and monotonous quiet during most days of most years. Infrequently, however, for one reason or another, and at times seemingly for no reason whatever, came days of excitement. And, as those who knew the place said, when the denizens of Big Pine bestirred themselves into excitement they were never content until they skyrocketed into the seventh heaven of turbulence. The old-timers recalled how, back in '82, a dog fight in front of the Gallup House started a riot; in spite of the dictum that it takes only two dogs to make a fight, the two owners present entered with fine esprit into the thing, and before nightfall men were carrying sawed-off shotguns and some of the oldest and wisest citizens had dug themselves in as for a state of siege.

This latest furore in and about Big Pine, however, had for cause an incident which since time was young has electrified both more and less sedate communities. True, it had begun with a fight; men, not dogs; yet it was what chance spilled from the torn coat pocket of one of them that transmuted slumbrous quiet into pandemonium. It was fitting that the Gallup House, centre of local activities, was the scene of the affair.

A mongrel sort of a man, one Joe Nuñez, known by everybody as Mexicali Joe, came in and demanded corn whiskey and paid for it on the spot. That in itself was interesting; Joe seldom had money. For twenty years he had been content to have his wife support him while he combed the ridges, always prospecting, always begging grub-stakes, always spending the winters telling what he would do, come spring. To-night, looking tired and dirty, he was triumphant. He spent his silver dollars with a flourish, and an onlooker, laughing, announced that Joe must have stolen his wife's money. Joe resented the accusation with dignity; he knew what he knew; he wagged his head and stared insolently and tossed off his drink in solemn silence. Thereafter he dropped innuendoes while he had his second drink. The man, Barny McCuin, who had badgered him in the first place, carelessly called him a liar. Joe, who had accepted the familiar epithet a thousand times in his life, for once bridled up and spat back. From so small a matter grew the fight.

Onlookers laughed and were amused, taking no serious stock in the fracas because it appeared inevitable that in half a dozen minutes big Barny McCuin would have Mexicali Joe whimpering and apologetic. But it chanced that as Barny flung the smaller man about, the Mexican's coat pocket was torn and from it spilled a handful of raw gold. Men pounced upon the scattered bits of quartz, Barny among them; they caught it up and stared from one another to Joe, who became suddenly quiet and tense and alert. Then a great shout rumbled up:

"Gold!"

And that was the one word which set all Big Pine ablaze. Here, on the fringe of a gold-mining country, which the latter years had all but worn out, there had been made that fresh discovery which every man of them always kept somewhere in the bottom of his mind as a possibility for himself.

Gallup, called "Young Gallup," simply because he was the son of "Old Gallup," who had gone to his last rest twenty-five years ago, was a man eminently capable of dealing swiftly with unexpected situations; he did not know the meaning of tact, but he did understand force. This was his house and here his word was law; he broke into the room at the first outcry, took in everything with one flick of his black eyes, and issued his orders.

"Hand that stuff over," he commanded the men who still held bits of the Mexican's specimens. "It belongs to Joe, and no man's going to be robbed here under my nose, Mex or White."

The look which Mexicali Joe shot at his protector had in it far more of suspicion than of gratitude. But his grimy fingers were eager enough in snatching back the pieces of quartz from reluctant palms. Grown sullen, he returned to his corn whiskey, drinking slowly, and holding his tongue. When men asked him the inevitable quick questions he either shrugged impatiently or ignored them altogether. They looked at one another, and an understanding sprang up on the instant between big Barny McCuin and some of the others. Presently Barny went out, followed by the men who had caught his glance. Young Gallup, with eyes narrowing and growing darker, watched them go.

"They'll get you outside, Joe," he said bluntly. "And they'll make you open up for all you know."

Joe shifted uneasily; in his heart he knew himself for a poor fool caught up between the devil, which was Gallup, and the deep sea.

Besides the proprietor and the Mexican there were now but three men left in the room. One of them was Gallup's man, who cooked, did chores, and, when need was, helped with the still and served drinks. At a look from his employer he left the room. Of the others, one was old man Parker, an ancient to be despised because feebleness made of him a negligible quantity in any affair based upon the prowess of physical manhood; the second was a youngster who stood in awe of Gallup and who looked ill at ease as the hotel man stared at him.

"Better beat it, Tim," said Gallup. "And take old Parker along."

"But, look here, Gallup; you ain't got any right...."

"It's my house," said Gallup. "There's going to be no crooked work here and you know it. Joe goes clear. If he wants to talk later on, why, then he can come out and talk with you boys outside. You know you'll find Barny and his friends not so far away."

Tim's self-pride, unimportant as it was, perked up at the realization that Gallup was actually discussing a matter of import with him. He tried to play the man.

"You want to get him all alone!"

Gallup sighed.

"You make me sick," he grunted disgustedly. "Now shut up and clear out. You, too, Parker. It's closing time anyhow."

"I seen, didn't I?" clucked the old man, tapping nervously on the bare floor with his peeled willow staff. "It was gold! Joe's stuck his pick into the mother lode! Ain't I always told you young fools...."

Gallup, patient no longer, caught him by the thin old arm and jerked him to the door, thrusting him out and unheeding the querulous protests. Then he swung about upon the younger man.

"On your way, Tim," he commanded.

There was that in his voice which discouraged argument. For Gallup, in the full power of his strength, a big man and heavy and hard, was suddenly flaming with anger and the two great fists were lifting from his sides. Tim, muttering, hastened after old Parker; behind him the oak door was slammed and the bolt shot into its socket. He broke into a run, seeking Barny McCuin and the others.

Gallup strode straight back to Mexicali Joe, clamping a ponderous hand upon the shoulder which sought futilely to jerk free.

"Spit it out, Joe," he ordered. "Where'd that come from?"

"You let me go! I ain't workin' for you. You ain't my boss. What I got, she's mine! Now I goin' home."

Gallup, still holding him with one hand, probed at him with his eyes, seeking to fathom what powers of determination and stubbornness lay within a mongrel soul. Joe looked frightened; there were beads of sweat on his forehead, stealing downward from under his black matted hair. But there was in his look the glint of desperate defiance.... Gallup called softly:

"Hey, Ricky; come here."

His combination cook and chore man returned through the inner door with an alacrity which must have told his employer that he had never stirred a step from the threshold. He, like the others, was on fire with suddenly stimulated greed.

"Go get Taggart," said Gallup, his eye all the time on Joe. "Slip out the back way and go quiet. He's down at his cabin. I want him here in a hurry."

Ricky, though with obvious reluctance, withdrew. Once out of sight, however, he ran as fast as he could, anxious to be back with no loss of time.

"Taggart?" muttered Joe. "What for? For why you send for him?"

"Why does a man generally send for him?" countered Gallup dryly. "Know who he is, don't you, Joe?"

"Sure, I know! But I ain't done nothin'. I ain't no t'ief. This is mine."

"Thief?" Gallup having repeated the word thoughtfully, said it a second time: "Thief! I hadn't thought of that."

"Let me go," cried Joe. With a sudden fierce jerk he broke free and started to the door.

But Gallup, shaking his head, was at his side like a flash. He thrust the Mexican aside and stood with his heavy square shoulders against the oak panel. Joe, by now trembling with fury, slipped a hand into his shirt. But before the hastening fingers could close about the sheath-knife which Gallup knew well enough they sought, Gallup drew back a heavy fist and struck the Mexican full in the face. Joe went staggering across the room and fell, his battered lips writhing back from his teeth. Again his hand went into his shirt. Gallup ran across the room and stood over him, one heavy boot drawn back threateningly.

"Make one more move like that," he said coolly, "and I'll smash my boot heel in your dirty mouth."

Outside, grouped expectantly in the middle of the road, Barny McCuin and his friends, joined by old man Parker and Tim, alternately speculated in quiet voices and watched for the door to open and Joe to come forth. Tim, in his anger and excitement, called them crazy fools; he warned them that Young Gallup, left alone with Joe, would be making some deal with the Mexican and that, if they were only half men they would come along of him and smash the door off and get in on whatever was happening. But Tim was only a boy and talked more than he acted; the others, knowing Young Gallup as they had cause to know him, hesitated to grow violent at his door. Gallup, defending his own property, would just as gladly pour a double-barrel shotgun load of buckshot into them as he would turn up a bottle of bootleg. They were not ready for murder and told Tim to shut up and keep his eye peeled.

But there was not a patient man among them, and to-night was no time for any man's patience. When they had waited as long as they could, perhaps half an hour, they turned back to Gallup's door, Barny leading the way and knocking loudly. In return came Gallup's voice, untroubled and cool.

"Locked up for the night," he said. And then, carelessly: "What do you want, boys?"

McCuin simulated laughter.

"That's a good one, Gal. All we want is a chat with Joe. And...."

"Joe's gone," returned Gallup. He came to the door and opened it, his lamp in hand. "Went about half an hour ago; just after you boys did. Out the back way and on the run!" He laughed. "Guess he's foxy enough to make a circle around you dubs. Oh, come in and look if you think I'm lying to you."

He stepped aside and let them come in. They knew that he was lying and they saw from his eyes that he understood that they were not fools enough to take him at his word. Yet Joe had gone. In that Gallup had told the truth; the lie lay in what he concealed.

"Where did he go?" demanded Tim earnestly.

Gallup jeered at him. "If I knew I'd tell you, wouldn't I, Timmy? Most likely where little boys like you ought to be by now. Meaning in bed, Timmy dear."

In time they went away; by now, drawn close together by a common burning desire, they were resolved into a committee with one objective. Late as it was they searched high and low for Mexicali Joe. They went first to his wretched cabin among the pines at the edge of the settlement; they got his wife out of bed and fired questions at her, receiving only blank looks of wonder; clearly she had not seen Joe and had no inkling of his sudden importance. They went away and in turn looked in at every likely place which Big Pine offered. But they found no sign of Joe. In a town of less than fifty houses he had vanished like one shadow engulfed and blotted out by another. They began to fear that he had fled, frightened, into the mountains.

A dozen men had seen Joe's gold. Before midnight no less than twenty tongues had discussed the one matter of moment. Men cautioned other men against letting too many people know; but such was the electric mood swaying them that early the next morning the news began trickling forth through the country surrounding Big Pine. By late afternoon word had penetrated far up into the mountains and, following the stage road, had gone fifty miles toward the distant railroad. And that same day it leaked out that Mexicali Joe, who had so strangely disappeared, had not fled at all but all the time had been in Big Pine. He had been arrested by Sheriff Taggart and thrown into the town jail, charged with disturbing the peace.

Taggart himself had nothing to say. He kept Joe shut up alone and let no one see him.