by Zane Grey
“Yes, but I thought you were only fooling. Besides I had to come.”
“Why? You don’t fit here. You’ve got too clean a look.”
Pan gazed down at her, feeling in her words and presence something that prompted him to more than kindliness and good nature.
“Louise, I can return the compliment. You don’t fit here.”
“Damn you!” she flashed. “I’ll fall in love with you.”
“Well, if you did, I’d sure drag you out of this hell,” replied Pan, bluntly.
“Come away from these gamblers,” she demanded, and drew him from behind the circle to seats at an empty table. “I won’t ask you to drink or dance. But I’m curious. I’ve been hearing about you.”
“That so? Who told you?”
“I overheard Dick Hardman tonight, just before supper. He has a room next to mine in the hotel here, when he stays in town. He was telling his father about you. Such cussing I never heard. I’m giving you a hunch. They’ll do away with you.”
“Thanks. Reckon it’s pretty fine of you to put me on my guard.”
“I only meant behind your back. — What has Dick against you?”
“We were kids together back in Texas. Just natural rivals and enemies. But I hadn’t seen him for years till last night. Then he didn’t know me.”
“He knows you now all right. He ran into you today?”
“I reckon he did,” replied Pan, with a grim laugh.
“Panhandle, this is getting sort of warm,” she said, leaning across the table to him. “I’m not prying into your affairs. But I could be your friend. God knows I like a man.”
“That’s the second compliment you’ve paid me tonight. What’re you up to, Louise?”
“See here, cowboy, when I pay any two-legged hombre compliments you can gamble they are sincere.”
“All right, no offense meant.”
“Do you resent my curiosity?”
“No.”
“I’ve got you figured right when I say you’re in trouble. You’re looking for someone?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it,” she retorted, snapping her fingers. “And that’s Hardman and his outfit...I didn’t hear all Dick said. When he talked loud he cussed. But I heard enough to tie up Panhandle Smith with this girl Lucy and the Hardman outfit.”
Pan eyed her steadily. She was encroaching upon sacred ground. But her feeling was genuine, and undoubtedly she had some connection with a situation which began to look complex. The same instinct that operated so often with Pan in his relation to men of the open now subtly prompted him. Regardless of circumstances he knew when to grasp an opportunity.
“Louise, you show that you’d risk taking a chance on me — a stranger,” he replied, with quick decision. “I return that compliment.”
The smile she gave him was really a reward. It gave him a glimpse of the depths of her.
“Who’s this girl, Lucy?” she queried.
“She’s my sweetheart, ever since we were kids,” returned Pan with emotion. “I went to riding the ranges, and well, like so many cowboys, I didn’t go back home. When I did go Lucy was gone, my family was gone. I trailed them here — to find that Dick Hardman was about to force Lucy to marry him.”
“The —— —— —— !” she burst out. Then after her excitement cooled: “How’d he aim to force her?”
Quickly Pan explained the situation as related to Jim Blake.
“Aha! Easy to savvy. That’s where Jard Hardman and Matthews come in...Panhandle, they’re a dirty outfit — and the dirtiest of them is Dick Hardman!”
“What’s he to you, Louise?” inquired Pan gravely. “You’ll excuse me if I say I can’t see you in love with him.”
“In love with Dick Hardman?” she whispered, hotly. “My God! I wouldn’t soil even my hands on him — if I didn’t have to...He met me in Frisco. He brought me to this damned stinking rough hole. He made me promises he never kept. Not to marry me. Don’t get the wrong hunch. He has double-crossed me. And I had to sink to this!...Drunk? Yes, sure I was drunk. Don’t you understand I have to be drunk to stand this life? I’m not drunk now because you got here early...Something deep must be behind my meeting you, Panhandle Smith.”
“I hope to heaven it will be to your good — as I know meeting you will be to mine,” replied Pan fervently.
“We’re off the track,” she broke in, and Pan imagined he saw a deeper red under her artificial color. “I despise Dick Hardman. He’s stingy, conceited, selfish. He’s low down, and he’s sinking to worse.”
“His father ruined mine,” Pan told her. “That’s what brought Dad out here — to try to get something back from Jard Hardman. No use. He only got another hard deal.”
“That cowboy who was in here with you last night — Blinky Moran. His claim was jumped by Hardman.”
“Louise, how’d you know that?” asked Pan in surprise.
“Don’t give me away. Blinky told me. He’s one of my friends and he’s a white man if I ever saw one...He has been in love with me. Wanted me to marry him! Poor crazy boy! I sure had to fight — and get drunker — to keep from more than liking him. He spent all his money on me and I had to make him quit.”
“Well, that little bow-legged cowboy liar! He’s as deep as the sea.”
“Keep it secret, Panhandle,” she responded seriously. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings...To get back to the Hardmans. They’ve taken strong hold here. The old man owns half of Marco. He’s in everything. But it’s my hunch I’m giving you — that he’s in the straight deals only to cover the crooked ones. That’s where the money is.”
“Yet Jard Hardman will not square up with Dad!” exclaimed Pan.
“Now tell me why you come into the Yellow Mine. Is it to court trouble? You’re taking an awful chance. Every night or so some tipsy miner gets robbed or knifed, or shot.”
“Louise, in dealing with men of really dangerous quality your only chance is to face them with precisely the same thing. As for the four-flushers like Matthews and men of the Hardman stamp, the one thing they can’t stand is nerve. They haven’t got it. They don’t understand it. They fear it. It works on their consciousness. They begin to figure on what the nervy man means to do before they do anything...If I did not show myself in the street, and here, the Hardman outfit would soon run true to their deals. So by appearing to invite and seek a fight I really avoid one.”
“So that’s why they call you Panhandle Smith?” queried the girl, meditatively. “I mean with the tone old man Hardman used. They call me Angel. But that doesn’t mean what it sounds, does it?”
“I can’t figure you, Louise,” replied Pan dubiously.
“I’m glad you can’t...Hello, there’s Blinky and his pard Gus. What’re they up to?”
“They are looking pretty hard, but it can’t be for you and me. They saw us long ago.”
“There! Hardman and Matthews, coming from behind the bar. There’s a private office in behind. You can see the door...Panhandle, let me tell you Hardman seldom shows up here.”
Pan leisurely got to his feet. His eye quickly caught Matthews’ black sombrero, then the big ham of a face, with its drooping mustache. Pan could not see anyone with him until they got out from behind the crowded bar. Then Pan perceived that Matthews’ companion was a stout man, bearded, dressed like a prosperous rancher.
“Louise, is that man with Matthews the gentleman we have been discussing?” asked Pan.
“That’s the rich fat bloated —— —— —— ,” replied the girl with eyes like a hawk. “You don’t talk straight, Panhandle.”
“I’m not quite so free as you are with bad language,” replied Pan, smiling down on her. Then with deft movement he hitched his belt round farther forward on his hip. It was careless, it might have been accidental, but it was neither. And the girl grasped its meaning. She turned white under her paint, and the eyes that searched Pan were just then like any other woman’s.
“Cowboy, what’re you goi
ng to do?” she whispered, reaching for him.
“I don’t know exactly. You can never tell how actions are going to be taken. But I mean well.”
“Stop!” she called low after him. “You smiling devil!”
Pan moved leisurely in among the tables toward the bar and the two men standing rather apart from the crowd. He maneuvered so that Matthews’ roving glance fell upon him. Then Pan advanced straight. He saw the sheriff start, then speak hurriedly to Hardman.
Pan halted within six feet of both men. He might never have seen Jard Hardman so far as any recognition was concerned. He faced a man of about fifty years of age, rather florid of complexion, well fed and used to strong drink.
“Excuse me,” spoke Pan, with most consummate coolness, addressing the shorter man. Apparently he did not see Matthews. “Are you Jard Hardman?”
“Reckon I am, if that’s any of your business,” came a gruff reply. Light, hard, speculative eyes took Pan in from head to feet.
“Do you recognize me?” asked Pan, in the same tone.
“No, Sir, I never saw you in my life,” retorted Hardman, his bearded chin working up and down with the vehemence of his speech. And he turned away.
Pan made a step. His long arm shot out, and his hand, striking hard Ml Hardman’s shoulder, whirled him round.
“My name’s Smith,” called Pan, in vibrant loud voice that stilled the room. “Panhandle Smith!”
“I don’t know you, Sir,” replied Hardman, aghast and amazed. He began to redden. He turned to Matthews, as if in wonder that this individual permitted him to be thus affronted.
“Well, you knew my dad — to his loss,” declared Pan. “And that’s my business with you.”
“You’ve no business with me,” fumed Hardman.
“Reckon you’re mistaken,” went on Pan, slowly and easily. “I’m Bill Smith’s boy. And I mean to have an accounting with you on that Texas cattle deal.”
These deliberate words, heard by all within earshot, caused little less than a deadlock throughout the room. The bartenders quit, the drinkers poised glasses in the air, the voices suddenly hushed. Pan had an open space behind him, a fact he was responsible for. He faced Matthews, Hardman, and then the length of the bar. He left the gamblers behind to Blinky and Gus, who stood to one side. Pan had invited an argument with the owner of the Yellow Mine and his sheriff ally. Every westerner in the room understood its meaning.
“You upstart cowpuncher!” presently shouted Hardman. “Get out of here or I’ll have you arrested.”
“Arrest me! What for? I’m only asking you for an honest deal. I can prove you cheated my father out of cattle. You can’t arrest me for that.”
Hardman guffawed boisterously. “Get out of here with your insolent talk about cattle deals.”
“I won’t get out. You can’t put me out, even if you do own the place.”
“I’ll — I’ll—” choked Hardman, his body leaping with rage, his face growing purple under his beard. Then he turned to Matthews. “Throw this drunken cowboy out.”
That focused attention upon the sheriff. Pan read in Matthews’ eyes the very things he had suspected. And as he relaxed the mental and muscular strain under which he had waited, he laughed in Matthews’ face.
“Bah! Hardman, you’re backed by the wrong man. And at last you’ve run into the wrong man. Haven’t you sense enough to see that?...You cheated my father. Now you’re going to make it good.”
Hardman, furious and imperious, never grasped the significance that had frozen Matthews. He was thick, arrogant. He had long been a power wherever he went. Yielding to rage he yelled at Pan.
“Bill Smith sicked his cowpuncher on me, hey? Like father, like son! You’re a rustler breed. I’ll drive you—”
Pan leaped like a tiger and struck Hardman a terrible blow in the face. Like something thrown from a catapult he went into the crowd next the bar, and despite this barrier and the hands grasping at his flying arms he crashed to the floor. But before he fell Pan had leaped back in the same position he had held in front of Matthews.
“He lied,” cried Pan. “My dad, Bill Smith, was as honest a cattleman as ever lived...Mr. Sheriff, do you share that slur cast on him?”
“I don’t know Bill Smith,” replied Matthews hastily. “Reckon I’m not talkin’ agin men I don’t know...An’ as I’m not armed I can’t argue with a gun-packin’ cowboy.”
Thus he saved his face with the majority of those present. But he did have a gun. Pan knew that as well as if he had seen it. Matthews was not the “even break” stripe of sheriff.
“Ah-huh!” ejaculated Pan sardonically. “All right. Then I’ll be looking for you to arrest me next time we meet.”
“I’ll arrest you, Panhandle Smith, you can gamble on thet,” declared Matthews harshly.
“Arrest nothing,” replied Pan with ringing scorn. “You’re a four-flush sheriff. I’ll gamble you elected yourself. I know your kind, Matthews. And I’ll gamble some more that you don’t last long in Marco.”
This was, as Pan deliberately intended, raw talk that any man not a coward could not swallow. But Matthews was a coward. That appeared patent to all onlookers, in their whispers and nodding heads. Whatever prestige he had held there in that rough mining community was gone, until he came out to face this fiery cowboy with a gun. White and shaking he turned to the group of men who had gotten Hardman to his feet. They led him out the open door and Matthews followed.
Pan strode back to the table where Louise sat tense and wide eyed. The hum of voices began again, the clatter of glasses, the clink of coin. The incident had passed.
“Well, little girl, I had them figured, didn’t I?” asked Pan, calling a smile to break his tight cold face.
“I don’t — know what — ails me,” she said, breathlessly. “I see fights every night. And I’ve seen men killed — dragged out. But this got my nerve.”
“It wasn’t much to be excited about. I didn’t expect any fight.”
“Your idea was to show up Hardman and Matthews before the crowd. You sure did. The crowd was with you. And so am I, Panhandle Smith.” She held out a slim hand. “I’ve got to dance. Good night.”
CHAPTER TEN
PAN’S EXIT FROM the Yellow Mine was remarkable for the generous space accorded him by its occupants.
Outside he laughed a little, as he stood under the flare of yellow light and rolled a cigarette. Knots of men stood on the corners of the street. But the area in front of the saloon was significantly vacant.
“Now if Dad had only been there,” soliloquized Pan. “That might have put some life in him.”
He sauntered down into the street, and as he went he heard the jangle of spurs behind him. Blinky and Gus covering his rear! Presently, beyond the circle of yellow light, they joined him, one on each side.
“Wal, Pan, I was shore in on thet,” said Blink, gripping Pan’s arm.
“Say, you called ’em flat. Made ’em swaller a hell of a lot,” added Gus, with a hard note in his voice. “When it come down to hard pan they wasn’t there.”
“Pan, you remember me tellin’ you aboot Purcell, who jumped my claim with young Hardman?” queried Blinky. “Wal, Purcell was there, settin’ some tables back of where you made your stand. I seen him when we first went in. Course everybody quit playin’ cards when you called old Hardman. An’ I made it my particular biz to get close to Purcell. He was pullin’ his gun under the table when I kicked him. An’ when he looked up he seen somethin’, you can bet on thet...Wal, Purcell is one man in Hardman’s outfit we’ll have to kill...Gus will back me up on thet.”
“I shore will. Purcell’s a Nevada claim jumper, accordin’ to talk. Somebody hinted he belonged to thet Plummer gang thet was cleaned out at Bannock years ago. He’s no spring chicken, thet’s shore.”
“Point Purcell out to me the first chance you get,” replied Pan. “Don’t figure I expect to bluff everybody. It can’t be done. Somebody will try me out — if only to see what I can do. That�
��s the game, you know.”
“Hell, yes. An’ all you got to do, Pan, is to be there first.”
“Reckon tomorrow will be shore interestin’,” remarked Gus.
“That girl Louise gave me a hunch,” said Pan thoughtfully. “Struck me she was square. — Blink, you’ve talked to her, of course?”
“Me?...Aw! — Couple of times. I reckon. Bought her drinks. She won’t look at me unless she’s drunk,” replied Blink, both confused and gloomy.
“You’ve got Louise figured wrong, cowboy,” returned Pan. “I’ll prove it to you sometime...Now let’s get down to business, and plan Blake’s release from jail. I want to lead the horse round about, so I won’t be seen by anybody.”
“Shore, thet’ll be easy,” replied Blinky. “I’ll go with you. We can keep to the slope a ways an’ then go down an’ come up on the other side of town. No roads an’ no houses.”
They returned to camp, and replenishing the fire sat around it talking of the wild-horse drive.
About ten o’clock Blinky went to the corral, saddled a horse, and led him back to the tent. There they put on the blanket and saddlebags. Blinky produced a gun he could spare, and then thoughtfully added a small bag of grain for the horse.
“It’s darker’n the milltail of Hades,” announced Blinky, “an’ thet’s good fer this kind of work. I’ll go ahaid, pickin’ out the way, an’ you lead the hoss.”
So they set out into the black night, working along the base of the slope. No stars showed, and the raw wind hinted of rain or snow. The lights of the town shone dimly. Keen on the breeze floated the discordant music and revelry, from the Yellow Mine and other like dives, in full blast.
Descending the slope required careful slow work. The incline was steep, of soft earth and loose shale. But Blinky knew where to feel his way, and eventually they reached the flat, to find easier progress. Blinky made a detour, and finally, as they gradually approached several lamplights, far apart, he whispered: “You wait heah. I ain’t so darn shore which one of them lights comes from the jail.”
Pan waited what seemed a long while. At last he heard steps, then made out an object blacker than the black background.
