by Max Brand
CHAPTER XXVII
THE STAGE
"You first," said Lawlor at the door.
"I've been taught to let an older man go first," said Bard, smilingpleasantly. "After you, sir."
"Any way you want it, Bard," answered Lawlor, but as he led the way downthe hall he was saying to himself, through his stiffly mumbling lips:"He knows! Calamity was right; there's going to be hell poppin' beforelong."
He lengthened his stride going down the long hall to the dining-room,and entering, he found the cowpunchers about to take their places aroundthe big table. Straight toward the head to the big chair he stalked, andpaused an instant beside little Duffy. Their interchange of whispers waslike a muffled rapid-fire, for they had to finish before young Bard, nowjust entering the room, could reach them and take his designated chairat the right of Lawlor.
"He knows," muttered Lawlor.
"Hell! Then it's all up?"
"No; keep bluffin'; wait. How's everything?"
"Gregory ain't come in, but Drew may put him wise before he gets insidethe house."
"You done all I could expect," said Lawlor aloud as Bard came up, "butto-morrow go back on the same job and try to get something definite."
To Bard: "Here's your place, partner. Just been tellin' Duffy, there onyour right, about some work. Some of the doggies have been rustledlately and we're on their trail."
They took their places, and Bard surveyed the room carefully, as anactor who stands in the wings and surveys the stage on which he is soonto step and play a great part; for in Anthony there was a gatheringsense of impending disaster and action. What he saw was a long, lowapartment, the bare rafters overhead browned by the kitchen smoke, whicheven now was rolling in from the wide door at the end of the room--thethick, oily smoke of burnt meat mingled with steam and the namelessvapours of a great oven.
There was no semblance of a decoration on the walls; the boards were noteven painted. It was strictly a place for use, not pleasure. The fooditself which Shorty Kilrain and Calamity Ben now brought on wasdistinctly utilitarian rather than appetizing. The piece de resistancewas a monstrous platter heaped high with beefsteak, not the invitingmeat of a restaurant in a civilized city, but thin, brown slabs, frieddry throughout. The real nourishment was in the gravy in which the steakswam. In a dish of even more amazing proportions was a vast heap ofpotatoes boiled with their jackets on. Lawlor commenced loading thestack of plates before him, each with a slab and a potato or two.
Meantime from a number of big coffee pots a stream of a liquid, bitter aslye and black as night, was poured into the tin cups. Yet the cattlemenabout the table settled themselves for the meal with a pleasantexpectation fully equal to that of the most seasoned gourmand in aManhattan restaurant.
The peculiar cowboy's squint--a frowning of the brow and a compressionof the thin lips--relaxed. That frown came from the steady effort toshade the eyes from the white-hot sunlight; the compression of the lipswas due to a determination to admit none of the air, laden with alkalidust, except through the nostrils. It grew in time into a perpetualgrimace, so that the expression of an old range rider is that of a mansteeling himself to pass through some grim ordeal.
Now as they relaxed, Anthony perceived first of all that most of thegrimness passed away from the narrowed eyes and they lighted insteadwith good-humoured banter, though of a weary nature. One by one, theycast off ten years of age; the lines rubbed out; the jaws which hadthrust out grew normal; the leaning heads straightened and went back.
They paid not the slightest attention to the newcomer, talking easilyamong themselves, but Anthony was certain that at least some of themwere thinking of him. If they said nothing, their thoughts were themore.
In fact, in the meantime little Duffy had passed on to the next man, ina side mutter, the significant phrase: "He knows!" It went from lip tolip like a watchword passing along a line of sentinels. Each man heardit imperturbably, completed the sentence he was speaking before, ormaintained his original silence through a pause, and then repeated it tohis right-hand neighbour. Their demeanour did not alter perceptibly,except that the laughter, perhaps, became a little more uproarious, andthey were sitting straighter in their chairs, their eyes brighter.
All they knew was that Drew had impressed on them that Bard must notleave that room in command of his six-shooter or even of his hands. Hemust be bound securely. The working out of the details of execution hehad left to their own ingenuity. It might have seemed a little thing todo to greener fellows, but every one of these men was an experiencedcowpuncher, and like all old hands on the range they were perfectlyfamiliar with the amount of damage which a single armed man can do.
The thing could be done, of course, but the point was to do it with theminimum of danger. So they waited, and talked, and ate and always fromthe corners of their eyes were conscious of the slightly built,inoffensive man who sat beside Lawlor near the head of the table. Inappearance he was surely most innocuous, but Nash had spoken, and insuch matters they were all willing to take his word with a childlikefaith.
So the meal went on, and the only sign, to the most experienced eye, wasthat the chairs were placed a little far back from the edge of thetable, a most necessary condition when men may have to rise rapidly orget at their holsters for a quick draw.
Calamity Ben bearing a mighty dish of bread pudding, passed directlybehind the chair of the stranger. The whole table watched with a suddenkeenness, and they saw Bard turn, ever so slightly, just as Calamitypassed behind the chair.
"I say," he said, "may I have a bit of hot water to put in this coffee?"
"Sure," said Calamity, and went on, but the whole table knew that thestranger was on his guard.
The mutual suspicion gave a tenseness to the atmosphere, as if it werecharged with the electricity of a coming storm, a tingling waiting whichmade the men prone to become silent and then talk again in fitfuloutbursts. Or it might be said that it was like a glass full ofprecipitate which only waits for the injection of a single unusualsubstance before it settles to the bottom and leaves the remainingliquid clear. It was for the unusual, then, that the entire assemblywaited, feeling momentarily that it must be coming, for the strain couldnot endure.
As for Bard, he stuck by his original apparent indifference. For hestill felt sure that the real William Drew was behind this elaboratedeception and the thing for which he waited was some revelation of thehand of the master. The trumps which he felt he held was in beingforewarned; he could not see that the others knew his hand.
He said to Lawlor: "I think a man named Nash works on this ranch. Iexpected to see him at supper here."
"Nash?" answered Lawlor. "Sure, he used to be foreman here. Ain't nomore. Nope--I couldn't stand for his lip. Didn't mind him getting freshtill he tried to ride me. Then I turned him loose. Where did you meethim?"
"While I was riding in this direction."
"Want to see him bad?"
The other moistened his lips.
"Rather! He killed my horse."
A silence fell on these who were within hearing. They would not havegiven equal attention to the story of the killing of a man.
"How'd he get away with it?"
"The Saverack was between us. Before I could get my gun out he wasriding out of range. I'll meet him and have another talk some day."
"Well, the range ain't very small."
"But my dear fellow, it's not nearly as big as my certainty of meetingthis--cur."
There is something in a low, slow voice more thrilling than the thunderof actual rage. Those who heard glanced to one another with thoughtfuleyes. They were thinking of Nash, and thinking of him with sympathy.
Little Duffy, squat and thick-set, felt inspiration descend on him. Heturned to Bard on his left.
"That ain't a full-size forty-five, is it--that one you're packin'?"
"Doesn't it look it?" answered Bard.
"Nope. Holster seems pretty small to me."
"It's the usual gun, I'm sure," said Bard, an
d pulled the weapon fromthe leather.
Holding the butt loosely, his trigger finger hooked clear around the farside of the guard, he showed the gun.
"I was wrong," nodded Duffy unabashed, "that's the regular kind. Let'shave a look at it."
And he stretched out his hand. No one would ever have guessed howclosely the table followed what now happened, for each man began talkingin a voice even louder than before. It was as if they sought to coverthe stratagem of Duffy with their noise.
"There's nothing unusual about the gun," said Bard, "but I'd be glad tolet you have it except that I've formed a habit of never letting asix-shooter get away from me. It's a foolish habit, I know, but I can'tlose it. If there's any part you'd like to see, just name it."
"Thanks," answered Duffy. "I guess I've seen all I want of it."
Calamity had failed; Duffy had failed. It began to look as if force ofdownright numbers must settle the affair.
