CHAPTER XVI
Death of McKee, Disappointed Desperado
Bud's conscience was not troubling him so much now. In fact, he wasrather proud of his conduct of late. He had "shaken" Buck McKee, andhe had forgiven Echo for all the hard thoughts he had againsther--without considering that she would be more than woman if shefailed to harbor resentment against the man who had prevented her fromcalling her husband back from the desert.
In the absence of Slim, both Bud and McKee attained a feeling ofsecurity in the matter of Terrill murder. McKee had already venturedto use some of his share of the robbery in gambling. Bud had not yetconvinced himself either of the right or the advisability of spendinghis share. Both conscience and fear advised him to keep theblood-money intact. He carried it with him wherever he went, andbecame, in time, quite pleased with himself because of his compunctionsin doing so. He was even pharisaical about McKee's gambling. No, whenhis mind had come clear about keeping it, he would make an honest useof it, such as investing it in a saloon in Florence. When, however, hesuggested to Polly that dispensing liquors over a bar and running afaro-game on the side would be a congenial occupation, suited to theirtalents, she sat down forcibly upon his aspiration, and they finallycompromised on Polly's proposition to conduct a livery-stable inTucson, where, Polly felt, though she did not say so to Bud, thatSheriff Hoover, with whom she had been flirting too dangerously, wouldnot be in evidence, as in Florence.
Polly, however, was greatly puzzled over Bud's confidence in hisability to raise the wind that would launch this delectable, but to hermind illusory, enterprise. In a moment of weakness he intimated thathe already had the money in hand.
How had he got it? she demanded.
"Saved it," he said.
When she asked him how he could have saved the thousand dollarsdemanded for the stable out of his salary of forty dollars a month, hereplied:
"By economizin'. I've cut off my chawin-tobacco."
"That cost you two bits a week, an' you've taken up cigarettes at adime a day," said observant Polly. "I know what you've been doin',you've been gamblin'."
"Cross my heart, Polly, I haven't," said Bud, and Polly, who had nogreat objection to using money won at cards, so long as she did notpositively know the fact, discontinued her objections, and resumed thedelightful occupation of castle-building. The home she had in viewconsisted of three rooms over the livery-stable.
"I want a red carpet in the front room, and wallpaper like that atBowen's store, with hosses jumpin' gates on it--"
"Don't you think there will be a leetle too much hoss there, Polly,with the stable under us, an' the smell a-comin' up--"
"Sho, Bud, you can't have too much hoss. Why, it was the hoss smellabout your clothes that made me fall in love with you," exclaimed theenthusiastic horsewoman. She continued:
"An' I want a yellow plush furniture set, an' a photograph-album tomatch, an' a center-table, an' a Rock-of-Ages picture, an' a boudoir--"
A boudoir was beyond the ken of Bud. He knew nothing of housekeeping.This must be one of those strange articles, the mystery of which hewould have to solve before he could feel that he was really a marriedman.
"What the devil is a boudoir?" he asked.
"I don't know what it is, but all rich women have them."
Bud took both of Polly's hands in his. Looking her fondly in the eyes,he said: "Then, by thunder, I'll get you two of 'em. We'll raise thelimit when we furnish that shack. I'm the happiest man in the country."
"Well you ought to be," laughed Polly. "Just see what you are gettin'."
"I've got to chase myself back to the house. You're ridin' night herdto-night, ain't you?" she added.
"Yes. I'm on the cocktail to-night. I am goin' to bunk down here.I'll be up to the house at sunup, and we can go over to Florencetogether."
"I'll have breakfast ready for you. Rope my pony for me, will you?"
Bud was smiling and happy again. All of his troubles were forgotten."All right!" he cried, as he started to mount.
"Say, you're awful forgetful, aren't you?" asked Polly demurely.
Bud looked about him slightly bewildered. Then he realized hisoversight. He ran to Polly's and tried to kiss her, but she motionedhim aside, saying: "Too late--you lose."
"But I didn't know," stammered Bud.
"Next time you'll know. On your way," airily commanded the girl.
Bud's face darkened. "Oh, well, good-by."
Polly looked after him perplexed and angry. His surrender to her whimswithout a fight nettled her.
"Good-by, yourself," she snapped. "He's the most forgetful man I everloved. If I thought he was a gamblin'-man, I'd get a divorce from himbefore I married him. I would sure," murmured Polly, as Buddisappeared toward the corral.
Polly's musing was interrupted by the return of Buck McKee.
"Is Bud Lane over yere?" he asked.
"You must have passed him just now. He's just got in fromnight-herdin'."
"I thought I seed him comin' this way. When's the weddin'-bells goin'to ring?"
Polly flushed. "Next month. Then you'll lose Bud's company fer good,"she answered defiantly.
"Well, I ain't been doin' him much good," Buck assented. "I'm goin'back home, though."
Polly gazed at Buck in surprise. Here was a new view of the man; oneshe had never considered. It was strange to hear this outlaw and badman talk of a home. The repetition of the word "home" by Polly, ledhim to continue:
"Yep. Up to the Strip, where I was borned at. This yere climate's aleetle too dry to suit me. I'm goin' to get a leetle ranch and aleetle gal, an' settle down for sure."
"I wish you may," said Polly heartily. "You sure acted mighty fineabout that Peruna insultin' Mrs. Payson."
Harshly as Polly had felt toward Buck, his actions in the recentincidents had softened her feelings toward him.
"I admire to hear you say it," said Buck, bowing. "I've played squarewith women all my life. I ain't never slipped a card nor rung in acold deck on any one of 'em yet."
Buck sat down on the step of the wagon. He hesitated for a moment, andthen asked: "Say, did you ever have a premonition?"
"Nope! The worst I ever had was the hookin'-cough."
Buck smiled, but did not explain to Polly the meaning of the word.
"Well, this premonition," he continued, "hits me hard, an' that's whatmakes me start for home. Thought I'd like to say good-by to you an'Bud. I go north with the big drive in the mornin', an' won't see youag'in."
"Well, good luck and good-by to you." Polly held out her hand in hermost friendly fashion.
Buck arose and took off his hat. As he stepped toward her, he cried:"Same to you. Good-by." Grasping her by the hand, he added warmly:"An'--happiness."
"I'll tell Bud you're here," cried Polly over her shoulder.
Buck looked after the girl as she swung across the prairie to find Bud.
"She's a darned fine leetle gal, she is," mused Buck. "Seein' Bud sohappy, kinder makes me homesick. Things is gettin' too warm for mehere, anyway. If Payson gets back, he'll be able to clear himselfabout that Terrill business, an' things is likely to p'int prettystraight at me an' Bud. I'm sorry I dragged Bud into that. I couldhave done it alone just as well--an' kep' all the money."
McKee sat down to wait for Bud. His mind was filled with pleasantthoughts. Having assumed a chivalrous role in the Peruna incident, hewas tasting something of the sweet sensations and experiences thatfollow a sincerely generous action. Smiles and pleasant greetings fromPolly, who had heretofore met him with venomous looks and stingingwords, were balm to his soul. He felt well-satisfied with himself andkindly toward the whole world. The fiendish torturer of helpless menand harmless beasts, the cold-blooded murderer, the devilish intriguerto incriminate an innocent man, thought that he was a very good fellow,after all; much better than, say, such a man as Jack Payson. He had atleast always treated women white, and had never gone back on a friend.W
hen he thought how Payson had drawn his pistol on trusting,unsuspecting Dick Lane in the garden, he was filled with the samepharisaic self-righteousness that inflated Bud when comparing himselfwith McKee.
His enjoyment in contemplating his own virtues was overclouded,however, by a vague presentiment of impending danger, the "premonition"he had of to Polly--a word he had picked up from fortune-tellers, whomhe often consulted, being very superstitious, as are most gamblers.
And Nemesis in the person of Peruna was indeed approaching. The outlawcrept up out of the draw behind the contemplative half-breed, and,leaping upon his back, plunged his knife in McKee's neck, with a fiercethrust, into which he concentrated all his hatred for the humiliationhe had endured.
With a stifled cry Buck struggled to his feet to face his assailant,drawing his gun instinctively. The knife had bitten too deeply,however. With a groan he fell; weakly he tried to level his gun, hisfinger twitching convulsively at the trigger. Peruna waited to see ifhe had strength enough to fire. A sneering smile added to the evilappearance of his face. Seeing Buck helpless, he snatched the gun fromhis hand. Then he turned his victim over so he could reach the pocketof his waistcoat. With the blood-stained knife he ripped open the clothand extracted a roll of paper and money. Peruna was kneeling besidethe body of his former friend, when a voice drawled:
"Drop that knife!"
Peruna jumped up with a grunt of dismay to see Slim Hoover sitting onhorseback, with his revolver held upright, ready for use.
Peruna hesitated: "Drop it!" ordered Slim sharply, slightly loweringthe gun.
Peruna tossed away the knife with a snarl.
"I'll take care of your friend's bundle, and the papers and money youtook from his pocket. Drop them. I didn't figure on gettin' back tobusiness as soon as I got home, but you never can tell. Can you?"
The last remark was addressed to his deputy, Timber Wiggins, who hadjoined him.
"This yere's Timber Wiggins, deputy sheriff from Pinal County,"explained Slim, for Peruna's enlightenment. "Mr. Wiggins, will youtake care of this friend of mine?" continued the Sheriff, glancing fromPeruna, who looked at him stolidly, to Wiggins. "I reckon he's beendoin' something naughty."
The two men dismounted, keeping the outlaw covered and watching hisevery glance.
"Anything to oblige," replied Wiggins, who had solemnly entered withSlim into his assumed formality.
Wiggins stepped behind Peruna, and reaching forward, removed Buck's gunfrom the outlaw's holster, which had been empty since Buck, earlier inthe day, had taken his revolver after he had insulted Echo.
"Anything to oblige," said Wiggins to Slim. Then to Peruna hecommanded: "Let's take a walk. You first. I'm noted for mypoliteness."
"You might tie him up some," suggested Slim.
"I sure will," answered the deputy, as he marched his prisoner towardthe corral.
Slim hastened to the side of the fallen man, and turned him over on hisback to get a glimpse of Peruna's victim. He saw that Buck was stillbreathing although mortally wounded, the blood gushing from his mouth.
McKee recognized the Sheriff. "Hullo! when did you git back?" he asked.
"Jes' now. Is this your money?" said Slim, holding the roll in frontof McKee's eyes.
"No; it's your'n. Part o' what I took from 'Ole Man' Terrill. The ideeo' not recognizin' your own property!" McKee grinned at his joke onthe Sheriff. "I held the old man up, and that's all there is to it."
"Who was with you?" asked Slim. "There was two."
McKee was silent.
"Bud Lane was the other man," hazarded Slim.
"No--" began Buck, but Slim interrupted him.
"He was with you that night. He came to the weddin' with you. It ain'tno use in denyin' it. I've been thinkin' it all out. I was fooled byJack's pacing hoss. You and Bud--"
Here McKee interrupted with a solemn denial. Whether from a desire tofoil the Sheriff, whom he knew was Bud's rival in love, and so thoughthim the young man's enemy, or from the benevolent spirit induced by therecent contemplation of his virtues, McKee was impelled to give anaccount of the murder which very convincingly indicated Bud as aprotesting catspaw, rather than a consenting accomplice.
At the end of the story he smiled grimly:
"So while you were out o' the county on a wil'-goose chase after aninercent man, Peruna, he goes loco on paten'-medicine, an' gits theguilty party. Joke's on you, Slim. I nomernate Peruna fer nex'sheriff."
Exhausted with the effort and pain of talking, McKee dropped his headupon Hoover's broad breast in a faint. Hoover bore him down to thespring, and bathed his wound and mouth. McKee revived, and in brokenphrases, which were accompanied with blood from his pierced lungsfrothing out of his mouth, continued his observations on the ridiculousand unfortunate mistake Peruna made in killing him.
"Damn' fool--'s bes' fren'--I would herd--'th low-down intellecks--nev''preciated--no chance--to be firs'-class--bad man."
And so Buck McKee, desperado, died like many another ambitious soul,with expressions of disappointment on his lips.
The Round-Up: A Romance of Arizona; Novelized from Edmund Day's Melodrama Page 16
