The Way Of The West Page 21

  V

  A Gent With a Gun

  The death of Chuck Lane caused a good deal of excitement in the town, for he was no common or ordinary thief, and the minister overheard one most serious conversation the next day.

  He had stopped at Vasa’s house to talk over the choir work with pretty Astrid, for she led the choir for him, and a thorough good job she made of it. There he met Red Moffet, and Red, with an ugly glance, rose and strode away, barely grunting at the minister as he passed.

  ‘I think Red doesn’t like me very well’ said Ingram. ‘He seems to have something against me. Do you guess what it is?’

  ‘I can’t guess,’ said Astrid, with the strangest of smiles. ‘I haven’t the least idea!’

  But now the gallant form of the deputy sheriff, Dick Binney, swept down the street, and Red Moffet hailed him suddenly and strongly from the sidewalk.

  ‘Binney! Hey, Binney!’

  The deputy sheriff reined in his horse. The dust cloud he had raised blew down the street, and left him with the shimmering heat of the sun drenching him. So terrible was the brightness of that light, and so great the radiation of heat from every surface, that sometimes it seemed to the young minister that he lived in a ghost world here on the edge of the desert. All was unreal, surrounded by airy lines of imagination, or radiating heat.

  Unreal now were those two men, and the horse which one of them bestrode. But very real was the voice of Red Moffet, calling: ‘Binney, were you there last night?’

  ‘Was I where?’

  ‘You know where.’

  ‘I dunno what you mean.’

  ‘Was you one of them that hung up poor Chuck Lane?’

  ‘Me? The sheriff of this here place? What you take me for, anyway? Are you crazy?’

  ‘I dunno what I take you for. But I’ve heard a yarn that you was with the rest of them cowards and sneaks that killed poor Chuck.’

  Dick Binney dismounted suddenly from his horse.

  ‘I dunno how to take this here’ said he. ‘I dunno whether it’s aimed at the boys who hanged Chuck last night, or at me!’

  ‘I say’ declared Moffet, ‘that Chuck was an honester man than any of them that strung him up. And if you was one of them, that goes for you, too!’

  It seemed that the deputy was willing enough to take offense, but he paused and gritted his teeth, between passion and caution. Certainly it would not do for him to avow that he had been one of the masked men.

  So he said: ‘What you say don’t bother me, Red. But if you’re out and lookin’ for trouble, I’m your man, all right!’

  ‘Bah!’ sneered Red Moffet. ‘It wouldn’t please you none to make trouble for any man in town, now that you got the law behind you! You can do your killings with a posse now.’

  ‘Can I?’ replied Binney, equally furious. ‘I would never need a posse to account for you, young feller!’

  ‘Is that a promise, Binney?’ asked Moffet. ‘Are you askin’ me to have a meetin’ with you one day?’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ said the deputy. ‘But now I’m busy. I ain’t gunna stand here and waste time with a professional gunfighter like you, Moffet. Only, I give you a warning. You got to watch yourself around this part of the world from now on. I’m watchin’ you. I’m gunna give you just enough rope to hang yourself.’

  He jumped back into the saddle, and galloped down the street, leaving Red Moffet shaking a fist after him and cursing volubly.

  Mr. Vasa, coming home, paused to listen with a judicious air to the linguistic display of Red. Then he came into his yard, shaking his head gravely.

  ‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ said Vasa, greeting his daughter and the minister, ‘things ain’t what they used to be around these parts. There’s a terrible fallin’ off of manhood all around! There’s a terrible fallin’ off! There’s been enough language used up by Red and Dick Binney, yonder, to have got a whole town shot up in the palmy days that I could tell you about.’

  ‘Dad!’ cried his daughter.

  ‘Look here,’ said the ex-blacksmith, ‘don’t you make a profession of being shocked every time I open my mouth. You live and learn, honey! I tell you, there was never no fireworks in the way of words shot off before the boys reached for their guns in the old days, Ingram. No, sir! I remember when I was standing in the old Parker saloon. That was a cool place. Always wet down the floor every hour and sprinkled fresh, wet sawdust around. Made a drink taste a lot better. It was like spring inside that place, no matter how much summer there might be in the street. Well, young Mitchell was in there, drinking. Same fellow that shot Pete Brewer in the back. He was drinkin’ and yarnin’ about a freighting job that he’d come in from. He ordered up a round.

  ‘“I’ll buy one for the boys,” says he.

  ‘“No, you won’t,” says a voice.

  ‘We looked across, and there was Tim Lafferty that had just come through the swingin’ doors.

  ‘“Why won’t I?” asks Mitchell.

  ‘“You ain’t got time!” says Tim.

  ‘They went for their guns right then, and as I stepped back out of line two bullets crossed in front of my face. Neither of’em missed. But it was Mitchell that died. Well, that was about as much conversation as they needed in the old days before they had a fight. But now, look at the way that those two have been wastin’ language in the street, and nothing done about it. I say, it’s dis-gusting!’

  ‘Do you think that Red’s a coward?’ asked the girl sharply.

  ‘Red? Naw! He ain’t a coward. And he can shoot. But what’s important is that the fashion has changed now. A gent with a gun that he wants to use feels that he’s got to write a book about his intentions before he can burn any powder. They didn’t waste themselves on introductions in the old days. Well, those times will never come back.’

  The minister asked gravely: ‘Is it possible that the deputy Sheriff could have been at the lynching the other night?’

  ‘Well, and why not?’

  ‘Why not? The representative of the law—’

  ‘Why, old Connors made a terrible mistake when he up and appointed Dick for the job. Dick is all right some ways. But he’s got an idea that the law is to be more useful to him than to the rest of the folks. He hated Chuck. I got an idea that he was at the hanging. And that’s why Red is mad. He loved Chuck. Good boy, that Chuck Lane.’

  ‘Did you know him?’ asked the minister, with some eagerness.

  ‘Did I know myself? Sure, I knew him!’

  ‘He was a gambler and—a horse thief?’

  ‘That was careless—swiping the horse. Matter of fact, though, if he’d got to the other end of the line, he would have sent back the coin to pay for the horse as soon as he got enough money together. But you got to judge people according to their own lights, and not according to yours, young man!’

  Thus spoke Mr. Vasa, with the large assurance of one who has lived in this world and knows a good deal about it.

  ‘It’s a brutal thing to lynch any man, no matter how guilty’ declared Ingram.

  ‘Hey hold on!’ cried the blacksmith. ‘Matter of fact, there ain’t enough organized law around here to shake a stick at. Not half enough! And I don’t blame the boys that hung up Chuck. Can’t let horse stealing go on!’

  This double sympathy on the part of Mr. Vasa amazed and silenced Ingram.

  ‘You’re lookin’ thin,’ went on Vasa. ‘Tell me how you’re likin’ the town. You run along into the house, Astie, will you? I got to talk to Ingram.’

  Astrid rose, smiled at her guest, and went slowly toward the house.

  ‘She’s got a sweet smile, ain’t she?’ was the rather abrupt beginning of the blacksmith’s speech.

  ‘She has,’ said Ingram thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ he added, as though turning the matter in his mind and agreeing thoroughly, ‘yes, she has a lovely smile. She—she’s a fine girl, I think.’

  ‘Pretty little kid,’ declared the father, yawning. ‘But she ain’t so fine. No, not so fine as you
’d think. Wouldn’t do a lick of housework, I don’t think, if her life depended on it. Y’understand?’

  ‘Ah?’ said Ingram, vaguely offended by this familiarity.

  And she’s fond of everything that money can be spent on. Look at that pony of hers. Took her down to look over a whole herd at the McCormick sale. Nothin’ would do for her. “I’ll take that little brown horse, Dad,” says she.

  ‘“Now, Astie,” says I, “don’t you be a little fool. That little brown horse is a racer, out of blood more ancienter than the Doggone kings of England. For a fact!”

  ‘“All right,” says she, and turns her shoulder.

  ‘“Look yonder at that fine chestnut,” says I. “There’s a fine, gentle, upstanding horse. Half-bred. Strong, not a flaw in it anywhere. Warranted good disposition. Mouth like silk. Footwork on the mountains like a mule. Go like a camel without water. Now, Astie, how would you like it for me to give you that fine horse—and ain’t he a beauty too?”

  ‘“I don’t want it,” says she. “It’ll do for that cross-eyed Mame Lucas, maybe!”

  ‘“Astie,” says I, “what would you do with a horse that would buck you over its head the minute that you got into the saddle?”

  ‘“Climb into the saddle again,” says she.

  ‘“Bah!” says I.

  ‘“Bah yourself!” says she.

  ‘It made me mad, and I bought that doggone brown horse. Guess for what? Eleven hundred iron men! Yes, sir!

  ‘“Now, you ride him home!” says I, hoping that he’d break her neck.

  ‘He done his best, but she’s made of India rubber. Threw her five times on the way, and had half the town chasing the horse for her. But she rode him all the way home, and then went to bed for three days. But now he eats out of her hand. Wouldn’t think that she had that much spunk, would you?’

  ‘No,’ agreed the minister, amazed. ‘I would not!’

  ‘Nobody would,’ said the blacksmith, ‘to look at the sappy light in her eyes a good deal of the time. But I’m tellin’ you true. Expensive! That’s what that kid is. If there was ten pairs of shoes in a store window, she’d pick out the most high-priced pair blindfold. She’s got an instinct for it, I tell you!’

  Ingram smiled.

  ‘You think that she’d change, maybe,’ said the blacksmith. ‘But she won’t. It’s bred in the bone. God knows where she got it, though. Her ma was never an expensive woman.’

  He rolled a cigarette with a single twist of his powerful fingers, and scratched a match on the thigh of his trousers. A hundred more or less faint lines showed where other matches had been lighted on the same cloth.

  ‘This ain’t a blind trail that I been followin’,’ he announced. ‘I’m leadin’ up to something. D’you guess what?’

  ‘No,’ said Ingram. ‘I really don’t guess what you may have in mind.’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t,’ said Vasa. ‘Some of you smart fellows couldn’t cut for sign with a five-year-old half-wit. Matter of fact, what I want to know is: Where are you heading with sis?’

  ‘Heading with her?’ said Ingram, very blank.

  ‘Where d’you drift? What’s your name with her? Does she call you deary yet?’

  Mr. Ingram stared.

  ‘Has she held your hand yet for you?’ asked Vasa.

  The blood of a line of ancient ancestors curdled in the veins of Mr. Ingram.

  ‘She does all of those things to the boys’ said the blacksmith. ‘There is even two or three that may have kissed her. I dunno. But not many. She gets a little soft and soapy. But she’s all right; I’d trust Astie in the crowd. I wondered where you’d been sizin ‘up with her?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean’ declared the minister.

  ‘Aw, come on!’ grinned the other, very amiably. ‘Everybody has to love Astie. Some love her a little. Some love her a lot. Even the girls can’t hate her. How d’you stand? Love her a little? Love her a lot?’

  Ingram began to turn pink. Partly with embarrassment, and partly with anger.

  ‘I have for Astrid’ he said with deliberation, ‘a brotherly regard—’

  ‘Hell!’ said Vasa.

  The word exploded from his thick lips.

  ‘What kind of drivel is this?’ he demanded.

  At this, Ingram narrowed his eyes a little and sat a bit forward. More than one football stalwart who had seen that expression in the eyes of Ingram had winced in the old days. But the blacksmith endured this gaze with the calm of one who carries a gun and knows how to use it. Who carries two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle, also—and knows how to use it!

  ‘Don’t give me the chilly eye like that, kid’ he continued. ‘I aim to find out where you stand with Astie. Will you talk?’

  ‘Your daughter’ said the minister, ‘is a very pleasant girl, and I presume that that closes this part of the conversation?’

  He stood up. The blacksmith rose also.

  ‘Well’ said Vasa, glowering, ‘suppose we shake hands and part friends on it?’

  ‘Certainly’ said Ingram.

  A vast, rather grimy paw closed over his hand, and suddenly he felt a pressure like the force of a powerful clamp, grinding the metacarpal bones together. But pulling a good oar on a powerful eight does not leave one with the grip of a child. The leaner, bonier fingers of Ingram curled into the plump grip of Vasa, secured a purchase, and began to gather strength.

  Suddenly Vasa cursed and tore his hand away.

  ‘Sit down again’ he said suddenly, looking at his splotchy hand. ‘Sit down again. I didn’t think you was as much of a man as this! It’s what comes of layin’ off work. I’m soft!’

  The minister, breathing rather hard, sat down as invited. He waited, silently.

  ‘You see, Ingram,’ said the blacksmith, ‘I’ve watched sis with the other boys, and I’ve watched her with you. She’s always been getting a bit dizzy about some boy or other. But with you it’s a little different; I guess she’s hard hit. Now, that’s the way I see it for her. How do I see it for you? And mind you, she’d take my head off if she thought that I was talking out of school.’

  Mr. Ingram looked at the wide blue sky—the sun dazzled him. He looked at the ground—it was withering in the heat. He looked at the fat face of the blacksmith, and two keen eyes sparkled back at him.

  ‘I didn’t think—’ he began.

  ‘Try again,’ said Vasa with a chuckle.

  The blue eyes and the smile of Astrid flashed into the mind of the minister. Her smile was just a little crooked, leaving one cheek smooth, while a dimple came covertly in the other.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ingram;’as a matter of fact—’

  ‘Only holding her hand?’ said the blacksmith with a smile. ‘Well, Ingram, I ain’t throwin’ her at your head. I’m just telling you to watch yourself. It don’t take more’n five minutes for a girl like that to make a strong man pretty dizzy. And if she ever gets the right chance to work on you, I know Astie! She’ll hit you with everything she’s got, from a smile to a tear. She’ll either have you on your knees worshipping or else she’ll have you comfortin’ her. God knows what she would need comfort about! But that’s the way she works. You understand? And one thing more—Red Moffet is wild about her. Red is the closest to a real man that’s ever wanted to marry her. And he’s got everything that her husband ought to have—money, grit, and sense. You’ve got sense. I guess you’ve got grit. But I know you ain’t got money. Mind you, I’m just talkin’ on the side. But, whichever way you’re goin’ to jump, you better make up your mind pretty quick. Because Red, if he don’t hear something definite, is gunna lay for you with a gun one of these days!’

  With this remark, Mr. Vasa arose.

  ‘Girls are hell to raise’ said he, confidentially. ‘Hell to have’em and hell to lose’em. Come on in, Ingram!’

  ‘I’m busy at the church,’ said Ingram, rather stunned.

  ‘Has this here yarning cut you up some?’

  ‘No, certainly
not. I thank you for being so frank. I didn’t, as a matter of fact—’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. Well, it’s out now, and it’ll bring matters to a head. Whichever way you jump, good luck to you!’

  They shook hands again, more gingerly. And Ingram turned out the gate and went up the street, his head low, and many thoughts spinning in his mind, like the shadows of a wheel. It was, of course, ridiculous that Ingram should think of marrying a silly little Western girl.

  And still, she was not so silly. File off a few rough corners of speech—she would learn as quickly as a horse runs—and—

  He came to the church and stood before it, hardly seeing its familiar outlines. He had received counsel. But, oddly enough, what he wanted to do now was to go back and see Astrid and find out, first of all, if she really cared for him.

  Suppose that she did; and that he was not ready to tell her that he loved her? He made a sudden gesture, as though to put the whole idea away from his mind, and with resolute face and firm step, he went into the church.

  VI

  Talking Was His Business

  A little chill went through Billman next day, for it was known that Red Moffet had discovered the name of at least one member of the posse that had hung Chuck Lane. Mr. Ingram heard the story from Astrid when she stayed a few moments after choir practice. It was a large choir, and though it was impossible to obtain enough male voices to match the sopranos, it was pleasant to hear the hymns shrilling sweetly from the throats of the girls.

  Astrid stayed after practice and told the exciting tale. Mr. Red Moffet, by some bit of legerdemain, had secured the very rope with which Chuck Lane was hanged by the neck until dead. And, having secured that rope, Mr. Moffet had examined it with care and promptly recognized it. For, at the end, there was a queer little knot such as only a sailor would be likely to tie. And in Bill-man there was a cowpuncher and teamster who had been a sailor before the mast—one Ben Holman, a fellow of unsavory appearance. And worse reputation.