Читать книгу The Long Rifle - Stewart Edward White - Страница 34

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The Rocky Mountain House proved to be a small two-storied rude structure on one of the streets back of the Rue des Granges. Nearly the whole lower story was taken up by a single large room, crowded with men. Some of them stood at a bar; a few occupied chairs; the most sat crosslegged on the floor. They were a wildly picturesque lot. Heads were covered with handkerchiefs, wide felt hats, caps of fur: bodies with cotton; with fringed and beaded buckskin yellow in newness; with buckskin black and shiny from wear. Legs also with buckskin, or with stout stroud; feet with moccasins plain and fancy. A few were dressed decently and quietly in the fashion of the cities. Smoke hazed the air.

Andy stood in the doorway accustoming his eyes to the dimness. Nobody paid him the least attention.

He was thrust aside by a man entering. The newcomer strode to the center of the room. Over his shoulder he carried a buffalo robe which he spread tanned side up. At one end he seated himself crosslegged; crashed down a hatful of silver dollars and with a sweeping motion spread a pack of cards.

“Yere’s the deck and yere’s the beaver!” he challenged. “Who dares set his hoss? Wagh!”

They gathered close, squatting crosslegged and on their heels. Only the man back of the bar remained standing; and two others near a farther door. Andy felt himself keenly scrutinized by them, and after a moment he recognized one of them as Crane.

He picked his way across to them.

“Well, here I am!” he announced.

Neither man replied for a moment.

“I’m going with you, after all,” Andy supplemented; “that is, if you still want me,” he added, the chill of the possibility rendering his voice uncertain.

Crane glanced toward his companion.

The latter was a tall man and muscular, clad from head to foot in fresh buckskin. His hair hung to hide the broad of his shoulders; but he was clean-shaven. His eyes were hard and direct, puckered into cold scrutiny. The lines of his brown face were keen-cut and fine. His expression was of deep gravity. The general impression of the man was of power and alertness held in the reserve of repose.

“This is Jack Kelly, my pardner,” said Crane, and to Kelly: “This is the lad I was tellin’ you about. If he sez so,” he told Andy.

Andy was conscious of the plainsman’s slow appraisal, sweeping him from head to toe like a cold flame. Abruptly he spoke. His voice was low and, surprisingly, inflected with that peculiar quality we call cultivation.

“You’ve changed your mind—why?” he asked.

“I told you he was no farmer!” interpolated Crane confidently, “He——”

Kelly silenced him with a gesture.

“Why?” he repeated.

“Well, for one thing, somebody stole my money off me,” admitted Andy, and laughed. “The money your grandmother gave you to buy a home,” Kelly said bitingly. Andy flushed, but his eyes did not waver. “So you’ve lost it; and now you’re running away.”

Andy’s head jerked.

“I’m not running away!” he denied hotly.

The stranger’s eyes bored into his.

“Money’s not hard to get,” he said, “nor farms, in this country. Suppose I put you in the way of one.”

“The boy’s no farmer!” cried Crane.

“Shut up, Joe. Well?” Kelly challenged Andy.

Andy hesitated, then thrust his letter into the plainsman’s hands. The latter read it slowly, passed it to Crane. He in turn spelled it out, his lips moving.

“Wagh!” he ejaculated when he had finished, “That old woman shines!” He turned on Kelly indignantly. “What I tell you?” he demanded. “Whar floats his stick?” He seized Andy by the shoulders. “We’ll make a Mountain Man of you, never fear! And,” he returned to Kelly, “you mark my words, he’ll shore make them come!” A sudden recollection caused the expression of his face to change ludicrously. He hesitated a moment in indecision, caught Kelly’s eye fixed upon him, grinned shamefacedly. He fumbled in one of the pouches suspended from his belt; thrust something into Andy’s hand.

“Reckon I might as well give you this back,” he mumbled. “You ain’t no farmer,” he alleged defensively. “I allus said so. But somebody had to keep you from bein’ one. Wagh!”

Andy looked down at the stolen sack of money. For a brief instant he felt himself as though lifted by the sweep of greater destinies than those within his command.