Читать книгу Gunman's Gold - Max Brand - Страница 9

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WITH that, very roughly and rudely, he thrust his way through the press and escaped from the lot. Those who remained, and there were many of them, stood about, staring at one another.

"Something had oughta be done!" said several voices, and that thought was held and repeated several times. But what could be done?

And then a man would speak up to remark: "They ain't so dog- gone far out of town by this time."

Another man said: "It would be sort of sweet, when the boys come gallopin' into town, for the little girl, up there in the hotel, to look out of the window and see Handsome Jack go by with his feet lashed under the belly of his horse, and his hands tied behind him, and a rope tied around his dog-gone neck. That would be sort of swell for her to see."

"Yeah," drawled another, a man with a face of iron, "it would be a good thing to remember. Drivin' her crazy, or killin' her on the spot, would be sort of nice. I'd like to see it, for my part. And the sound of her scream—that would do me a lot of good, too. I'd like to wake up at night and have the thrill of it go crawling down through my spinal marrow. Or what I would like best of all would be to see her crawlin' on her knees and throwin' her arms around the dead man's busted neck. Yes, that would please me a considerable pile. And I want all you man-eaters to remember that the killin' of him ain't all. It's kind of law, almost, for us to kill him. It's right and nacheral that we should do it. But after he's dead, there's somebody in this here town that has gotta go and break the news to the poor little widow. And all I gotta say, gents, is that I ain't goin' to be that man!"

This was a speech in which the speaker kept his voice low, until he came to the last words. And as they rang out, a sudden and terrible conviction sank into every breast that no one else in Deerfoot would consent to fill the part of the messenger. Yet if they were decent men, the dead body, at least, would have to be turned over to the poor girl.

Another man took off where the tall speaker had finished, saying: "It'd be a considerable pleasure to me, gents, for my part, to think about the buryin' of Handsome Jack. But after that I would like to lie awake for a few nights and think about this here poor girl, that never done a wrong to a soul in her life, that never done nothin' but trust everybody, and love everybody, and give her heart to the dirty world in the palm of her hand. I say it would be a considerable pleasure to me, gents, to lie awake at night and think about her returnin' home, and the carriage from the station stoppin' in front of the old home, and the two 'little kids runnin' out and jumpin' up and down with joy to see their mother back.

"Yes, sir, that meetin' would be a pretty thing to see, and her with her dead man in her heart, and her babies in her arms. Speakin' personal, I only got one child, and I'd about as soon lay him dead on the ground here, gents, as to see that little widow go home and meet her two little ones. Jack Reynolds may be as guilty as anything, but, gents, it's four lives that we're handlin' when we lay hands on his neck!"

As he ended this speech, a man said:

"Get on a hoss, somebody, and pile out of town and get on the trail, and stop the posse from comin' right into town. No matter what else we gotta have, we gotta have time—we gotta be able to think."

"Half a dozen gents go," said the tall man who had recently spoken. "And I'll be one of 'em. We won't say nothin' about the cause— we'll just say there's got to be a delay. And then we'll lead in some of them red-handed posse men and let 'em have a slant of the eye at the girl wife. That's all we'll do."

There was an instant departure of a number of volunteers to perform this pleasanter duty. Then said a big man toward the rear of the group:

"Look here, boys. Lee Swain has been mutterin' or mumblin' something back here about maybe this is all a frame."

"A frame?" shouted several angered voices.

A stern-faced man with gray hair, a lofty and formidable figure, held up a hand.

"We'll hear everybody," he said. "Swain is a mighty clever man, and a mighty smart man, and he knows a whole lot. And he certainly stepped out and got himself a mighty good gold mine, too, while he was about it. But maybe he ain't always right. Let's hear what he's got to say."

Room was made for Lee Swain, who stepped into the center of the clearing that appeared for him, and said:

"My idea, friends, is that this was a very startling coincidence. The young lady did not arrive the day before, or the morning before, but a mere hour before man-killing Jack Reynolds was about to meet justice at the hands of this crowd. I agree with what the other speakers have said that the girl is charming, and that if she has two children at home, the heart of every decent man should ache for her. Whether she has them or not, if she is the wife of Jack Reynolds, we ought to consider the case a little more carefully, no doubt. For as some one has very eloquently said just now, if he's a married man, we're handling more lives than one when we hang Jack Reynolds."

He had more to say, but the stern-faced man broke in gently:

"What I aim to gather out of this here, Swain, is that you are kind of hintin' that little Mrs. Reynolds is maybe not exactly right—that she's a sort of crook, maybe—that maybe she's been hired for a dirty job and is actin' a part. What you're sayin' is that maybe it ain't as clear as day that she's one of the sweetest, most gentlest, lovin' girls that ever my eyes was laid on!"

A deep-throated murmur of agreement answered this outburst.

But Lee Swain was undaunted. He merely said: "You people want to believe in the best. I hope you're right. A more charming girl I never saw. She was almost too charming to be real. People off the stage, people who are not playing parts, are rarely so perfectly graceful. However I may be entirely wrong."

"Why don't you go and question her, Swain?" snarled one man. "Why don't you go and shake your finger at her and make her answer a few questions?"

Lee Swain answered him rather sharply, considering his usually mild voice: "As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind putting a few brief questions to Master Sam, the mulatto. He has a strangely clear eye for a man with Negro blood in his veins. That I must say. Mind you, I don't promise you any revelations. But everything about this arrival of the little lady has been singularly pat—oh, very, very pat indeed!"

The stern-faced man broke in: "Swain ought to have his way. We ain't fools enough to deny that he has brains. Somebody go get the servant. I'll go get him myself. We can tell him a few of the facts about his master, at least."

The clerk of the hotel had shown "Mrs. Jack Reynolds" into the best room, the big corner room in the second story which had two spacious windows looking out upon the main street.

As the clerk finished pointing out the features of the room and apologizing for its lacks, and indicating the fine view of the mountains which extended beyond them in great masses of dark forest and shining rocks, he withdrew. The "mulatto" entered the room with the two pieces of baggage.

"Put them down, Sam," she commanded, "and open them for me, please, and then I know that you'll want to have a bath and a rest after the long drive. I hope that I won't need you before dinner."

The clerk heard this much before Sam shut the door. But when the door had shut, he could hardly see young Mary Tracy go spinning across the room on her toes until she brought up before the big mirror, which was one of the prides of the hotel. No less than three times had bullets smashed its predecessors, but always another big mirror had been shipped in at great expense for that best of guest rooms. Now it showed the poised body and the delighted face of Mary Tracy.

She cried out softly: "Tell me, Sam—wasn't I wonderful? Wasn't I almost perfect?"

"This is only the opening of the play," said Shannigan. He had placed the two bags, by this time, and was leaning to open one of them, compressing it carefully with his mighty hands lest he should break the lock before the key was turned.

"But," he added, "a good beginning is a large part of success. You have a talent, Mary."

She took off her hat and threw it over her head. Shannigan had not time to rise. He sprang sidewise, like a four-footed beast of prey, and caught the hat from the air. As he placed it on the bed, she was saying:

"I love you for giving me these clothes, Sam. To say nothing of all the rest in the bags. Every time I looked down at them my heart leaped. That was what gave me the confidence! That was why I could take them in my hands. The big, silly geese! There were tears in their eyes, Sam. Tell me: Did you bribe Mike Flynn to make that speech? Did you rehearse him in it?"

Shannigan was once more at the open bag, unpacking it with rapid skill.

"No, Mary," he answered, "but perfect art brings a response at once, and the simpler the nature, the more profound the answer! Just what did you do to Mike Flynn when you were sitting on the driver's box?"

"I was just feminine and foolish, Sam," said the girl. "When a rabbit jumped out of the brush and turned itself into a gray streak down the road, I hoped that the poor thing would not run itself to death, and I asked Mike if rabbits didn't die of fear sometimes. Then there were a few places where he fed the whip into those wild mustangs, and every time I curled up and shut my eyes, and didn't look out at the terrible world again for several minutes. Mike was afraid to touch those horses toward the end of the run; that's why we were a couple of hours late, I think."

"Which gives us a pretty narrow margin for saving the neck of your husband," said Shannigan.

"What's in your mind, talking like this?" asked the girl. "What do I care about anything? I see the way to take the world in my hands. You've showed it to me! Look!"

He glanced aside, and saw that she was still facing her image in the glass, this time with her hands behind her head, smiling at what she saw.

"I always knew that I was pretty," said Mary Tracy, "but now I can see that I'm more than that. I'm going to learn more than one rôle, Sam. I'm going to make a number of hearts skip several beats, old son, and they won't be all west of the Rockies, either!"

He went from the first case to the second.

"Of course they won't," said he. "I can see you traveling on, Mary. You'll do in Denver for a start, and New Orleans, and on to New York. If titles interest you, you could slip across to England. And you'll make Paris burn a little brighter, Mary. You'll taste the cream from Moscow to Madrid, no doubt, while the way gets a little harder and whispers begin to gather around you and overtake you, and all at once you're just outside the law. About the same time, your face will not be what it was. The infernal wrinkles come, Mary, and write the truth."

She whirled on him from the glass.

"Stop it!" said she. "You started me playing sham, and now you're moralizing about it."

"The devil is a tempter," said Shannigan, "but every one knows the country he comes from."

"What's in your mind, talking like this?" asked the girl. She drew up a chair, and, sitting in it with her chin on one brown fist, she stared at him.

Shannigan lifted his massive head and turned it slowly toward her. That cold and all-knowing eye was a weight which she could hardly endure.

"Are you talking about being good?" she said. "Are you talking about that? You and your dead men? Then why did you ask me to come away with you to save the neck of that rascal, Jack Reynolds?"

"You wouldn't have stayed home very long in any case," declared Shannigan. "When I see the colt hanging its head over the pasture fence and beginning to look at the mountains, I know it is time to saddle it and sell the pet! I took you out for a turn through the world before you took a journey by yourself."

She winced away from him, rising from the chair, and then, closing her eyes, she held up her hands before her as a protection from his smile.

"You've taken the joy out of everything!" she said. "There's no fun left in the game!"

"You're off the stage now, Mary," said he. "The moment the curtain rises for you again, you'll find your fun waiting. But when you're off the stage, you ought to keep your head clear. Don't be stirring the wine all the time, or the bubbles will soon be gone!"

She made a quick gesture across her face, as though to brush away his unflattering words, and the effect of his steady glance.

"Stop looking at me like that, Sam," she pleaded. "You know that I can't stand it. Nobody can stand it!"

"Very well," said he, and turned his head again to the unpacking.

"I'd like to know," she said, "why you ever crawled into such a little out-of-the-way hole-in-the-wall as San Andreas. Why did you do it? You could keep the center of a big stage. You could make men run like rabbits; big men, too. Why did you hide yourself away?"

"I saw you, Mary," said he, "and I knew with the first look at you that it would be worth while to spend some time on you."

"Do you seriously mean that? Of course, you don't! I can see that you're always smiling."

"I'm always smiling when I'm with you," said Shannigan. "That's because you always make me happy."

"Shannigan, sometimes I want to kill you," said the girl.

"Sometime you may," said Shannigan.

"Your horrible sneers—your cold eyes, I mean," said she. "When did you first see me? When did you first notice me, Sam?"

"I'll tell you that when I marry you, Mary," said Shannigan.

"Bah!" she cried out in disgust and repulsion at the thought. "Do you always have to mock me?"

"Fine face to have about, eh?" said Shannigan, turning it toward her again.

She blinked.

"Go on, Sam," she said. "We're partners now. You tell me when you first noticed me!"

"I mean what I said," answered Shannigan. "I'll tell you on the day I marry you, or on the day I die—if you happen to be at hand."

At this she came up close to him, rapidly, and even leaned a little to bring her eyes closer to that massive face of bronze.

"Are you actually serious about it, Sam?" she asked.

His only answer was that smile of carved bronze, with grim eyes, that looked far off beyond her.

She drew in her breath with a gasp and backed away from him.

"You scare me to death, Sam!" she whispered.

"Don't try to exchange confidences with the devil, Mary," he told her. "That's the lesson for today."

A tap came at the door.

She faced the mirror, suddenly forced herself to smile. As she called out in a brightly cheerful voice, the door was opened. A tall cow-puncher stood there against the darkness of the hall.

"When your man's got a minute," said the tall man, "can we talk to him a little? We're arranging a surprise for Jack Reynolds, ma'am!"