Marble Range

by Robert J. Horton

  All were talking, shouting, laughing, calling out to one another, crowding against the booths where lemonade and soft drinks were being served; struggling for an opportunity to play the wheels of chance in the hope of winning one of the gaudy, worthless prizes; screaming for hot dogs or sandwiches; bombarding the ice cream stands; buying souvenirs—making carnival to the point of pandemonium. And over all, the dust—and the hot, glaring sun.

  The two girls, in their neat riding habits, attracted attention. Friendly salutations were flung at them. Their men crowded in about them to keep the party from becoming separated.

  “Where will we go?” said Florence in bewilderment.

  As she put this question, they were passing the office of the Marble Dome Land and Irrigation Company. It was answered immediately. Cromer saw them from his station at the front window, where he was surveying the long line of people filing through the office, registering their numbers of plot purchase contracts with clerks, so the company would know who was present and could later check up on those who had not attended the drawing and made their second payment. He pushed his way through the line and caught up with them.

  “Hello, Macy!” he called, grasping the rancher’s arm. “And Miss Marble! This is good. I thought maybe you folks would be up from the south and I’ve got three front rooms in the hotel saved for you and any other of the stockmen and their families who come up. Good place to rest and see what’s going on in the street before the big show.” His face was beaming with excitement and satisfaction. He looked like a different Cromer this day. But he took no notice whatsoever of Bannister or Howard. The pair winked at each other.

  “Well, that sounds good,” said Macy. “I reckon we’ll take you up on it . . . if we can get to the hotel.”

  “It’s right across the street,” said Cromer. “Come, we’ll make a wedge and push through.”

  With Macy and Cromer in front, Bannister and Howard behind, and the two girls in between, they fought their way through the crowd to the hotel and edged through the mob in the little lobby. Upstairs they found the rooms cool and quiet; the green window shades, drawn halfway, shut out the glare of the sun, and the screens kept out most of the dust that swirled above the perspiring throngs below.

  “I’ll send a waitress up,” said Cromer genially. “She’ll bring you cold drinks and anything you want to eat. It’s all arranged.” He was looking at Florence, who regarded him coolly. So far none had spoken to him save Macy. And Macy it was who spoke now.

  “Tell her to fetch along a barrel of lemonade or something,” he said, taking off his hat to wipe his forehead. “It’s hotter than Billy-be-damned.”

  “Right,” said Cromer, smiling at the girls. He had not altogether given up hope that Florence would relent. Perhaps this show would have a favorable effect on her. For the first time he looked straight at Bannister. “I’m glad you’ve recovered,” he boomed heartily.

  “Funny, but I was just now expecting to hear you say that,” drawled Bannister.

  Cromer’s eyes clouded as he left the room. Bannister’s veiled insolence and challenge caused him to remember. Never in his life had he hated a man so fiercely as he hated Bannister at that moment. His lips pressed into a white line and his eyes shone with sinister resolve as he went down the stairs to give his orders.

  “Well, I don’t hanker for any lemonade, exactly, but I’d like to take a look around, so I guess I’ll go down for a while,” said Bannister.

  “Me, too,” said Howard. “I’ll go along, if it’s all right with you, Bannister.”

  “I’ll wait for the drinks an’ then mosey down into the lobby,” John Macy decided. “There’s some others coming up from Indian River today, an’ I suppose they’ll hit for the hotel. I’ll steer the womenfolks up here.”

  In the street, Bannister’s interest was quite apart from that of John Macy or the girls. He had no time for the colorful crowd, but led Howard through the dense mobs until they came to the entrance of a huge brown tent over which was a cloth sign reading: DOME PALACE.

  They went in to find that a board floor had been laid, a long bar built of rough boards ranged the entire length of the tent on each side, and the center was strewn with gaming tables, while in the rear were the roulette wheels, crap games, faro layouts, and blackjack tables. It was thronged with a milling crowd of men who were drinking and gambling. Big Stetson hats reigned supreme here. There were scores of cowpunchers and riders in colorful garb. There were rough-looking characters, too, and plenty of them. Here was a place for trouble to start.

  “Made to order,” Bannister muttered, thinking of that very thing.

  “What did you say?” Howard asked.

  “Nothing,” said Bannister. Then he started. Cromer was making his way out of the place on the opposite side. Cromer didn’t drink or gamble, so why should he come in here? To keep a check on his rake-off, probably. Bannister’s lips curled scornfully.

  They circled the place, and, when they were midway to the bar on the side across from the side by which they had entered, Bannister’s face froze into an expressionless mask. Le Beck was standing close against the bar. With him were two men who Bannister took to be Canadians. And at the second Canadian’s left stood Big Bill Hayes.

  If Howard saw them also, he made no mention of it. The boy was excited, and Bannister suddenly felt a desire to be rid of him. They went out of the place into the heat and dust. As they moved with the throng up the street between rows of tents and booths, they passed a dozen other tent resorts, but none as large as Dome Palace.

  “Suppose we go over to the riders’ camp,” Howard suggested. “Some of our men figure on riding this afternoon.”

  “You go over and see ’em,” said Bannister in a tone that virtually left Howard no alternative. “I’ll meet you later at the hotel.”

  So Howard left him and Bannister turned back. Alone, Bannister’s mood changed. He temporarily forgot Howard and Florence and the Half Diamond. His eyes gleamed and he thrilled with the rush of blood in his veins. Here was an element at his elbow that he knew well. Tough characters, wily gamblers, gunmen—lots of them. Stacks of gold and silver on the gaming tables. An avowed enemy at the head of it all. His eyes narrowed, his step quickened. Two fingers slipped into his holster against the cool cylinder of his gun. A man jostled against him and he gave him a belligerent look. Then his shoulders seemed to straighten more than ever. He plowed through the crowd and hurried through the entrance of Dome Palace.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They saw no more of Bannister at the hotel before the time came to go to the rodeo contests. Florence inquired of Howard as to his whereabouts, but Howard suspected, and rightly, that Bannister wished to be left to his own devices. He suspected also that Bannister had gone back to Dome Palace, but he said nothing about this. He pleaded ignorance as to where Bannister might be, pretending that he had lost him in the crowd.

  Although Florence said nothing more, she felt worried. She thought she knew something of Bannister’s wild spirit. It was a trait that had first roused her interest in him, but it could be called interest no longer. It was more than that. She was really concerned. Had the others not been there she would have gone searching for him. It would be so easy for him to yield to his passion for gambling and get into trouble.

  She accompanied John Macy, Howard, and June and some others they knew to the stadium to see the contests, hoping that she might catch a glimpse of him there. But while she saw men she recognized as members of the Half Diamond outfit, she saw nothing of Bannister. Nor were they to see him for some time after the contests and the big drawing itself was over.

  As for Bannister, he had practically forgotten them. The moment he entered Dome Palace the gaming lust was upon him, gripping him with a hold he could not loosen. He yielded readily, but before slipping into a place at a stud poker table, he walked to the bar and wedged in almost at Le Beck’s elbow. He meant to give Le Beck every opportunity to start things this day or night. For he hadn
’t believed Cromer when the latter had said he had discharged Le Beck. And he believed Le Beck had his orders. Bannister was in no mood to attempt to prevent him from carrying those orders out—if he were capable of doing so. He caught Le Beck’s glittering, snaky eyes regarding him surreptitiously, and his lips curled. Le Beck wet his lips and his gaze was shot with fire. For Bannister’s look was like a slap in the face. He turned back to his drink and said something to the two Canadians, who forthwith stole a look at Bannister. Hayes kept his eyes straight ahead, although he must have known. Something seemed to whisper in Bannister’s ears that the pair with Le Beck would be in on whatever play came up. He smiled grimly, though his voice had never sounded more cheerful than when he ordered beer.

  He drank the stuff slowly, seeking every opportunity to catch Le Beck’s eye. The gunman began to appear ill at ease and finally stopped stealing glances at Bannister as he talked to his companions in low tones. They were drinking steadily, and Bannister knew no good would come of that. Nor did he care what happened. The old reckless spirit was alive and throbbing within him. He was just beginning to become thoroughly angry over his wound and the theft of his horse and gun. If he had thought it would do any good, he would have called the turn on Hayes then and there—even to the point of compelling both him and Le Beck to draw. Florence Marble didn’t know this Bannister who stood at the bar, sipping his beer, his eyes cold and hard, a storm gathering in his mind.

  When his glass was empty, Bannister turned abruptly from the bar. He knew the eyes of the four followed him and he found a place at a table where he could see in their direction. Then he forgot them and everything else as the dealer shoved yellow and blue and red stacks across to him in exchange for the yellow roll of bills he had tossed on the table.

  He had chosen a table where the play was high. He watched the deal closely, and, when he caught the eye of the man who had dealt, he raised his brows slightly.

  “Pass,” he said, without looking at his hole card. The man frowned slightly. Others looked up. And at once it was understood that a man had entered the game who was well acquainted with all the tricks of the tinhorn and the professional houseman. The play changed somewhat.

  Bannister watched every dealer in succession like a hawk. He discomfited them, took the cleverness out of their flying fingers; by sheer hypnotism, it seemed, he made the game a straight one. They caught him between the pinchers and he bet them to a standstill and raked in a hatful of checks. All that afternoon he played. The housemen changed off with men from other tables until the best professionals who had come for the clean-up were pitted against him. And still he won. It was uncanny, his opponents thought. He destroyed their poise. They became rattled and forgot themselves, showing their hands at times in their faces. Spectators crowded about the table three deep.

  He looked up from a winning hand, stacking his checks. He had a bulwark of yellows and blues before him. He glanced casually about him and his gaze froze on a face—a lean face, tanned to the color of leather; blue eyes, blond brows, a good mouth and a firm chin under a great black beaver hat. His head inclined ever so slightly in a move imperceptible to the others.

  “Deal me out,” he said crisply to the man who was shuffling the cards.

  There was a stir at this but Bannister paid no heed. He quickly counted a stack to be sure it contained twenty chips, sized the others up to it, and began pushing the stacks across to the man in the slot.

  “Three thousand, nine hundred and twenty,” he said, “and an extra red.” He tossed over the lone check with a short laugh, stuffed the roll of bills the dealer passed him into a hip pocket, and left the table.

  Instead of going out the front entrance, he strolled back to the big rear entrance and walked out on the grass behind the tents. The short, blue-eyed, youthful-looking man who had caught his eye at the table strolled casually after him. Bannister was waiting.

  “Tommy Gale,” he said as the other came up with a glad grin on his face. “Tommy, how’d you get up here?”

  “I’ve still got a hoss,” drawled Tommy.

  “Tell me, Tommy,” said Bannister seriously, “are there any others up from below?”

  “None as I knows of,” was the reply. “I come by accident, you might say. Heard about these doings down in Billings, an’, as I didn’t have anything else to do for the time being, I came along.”

  “Seen anybody here you know?” asked Bannister.

  “Seen you, that’s all,” Tommy answered. “Say, Bob, ain’t you sort of takin’ a chance?”

  “Yes, I’m taking a chance,” Bannister agreed. “But I’m all right if none of those danged star flashers down there don’t get wise to where I am. They’ll see me soon enough.”

  “Eh? You goin’ back?” Tommy appeared very much surprised.

  “In time . . . when my work here is finished,” Bannister said slowly. “Yes, sooner or later I’m going back. Did I get blamed for that Sheridan racket, Tommy?”

  “You sure enough did,” said Tommy with a scowl. “You get the blame for everything. I suppose you know that.”

  “Yes, I know it,” said Bannister grimly. “They’ll try to hang it on me right when they get me and I suppose they can do it.”

  “I dunno.” Tommy appeared doubtful. “They’re electing a new sheriff down there this fall. The present incumbent, old John Wills, isn’t as popular as he was. He’ll go out of office sure as shootin’ this next election. The handwritin’ is all over the prairies down there.”

  “Then maybe there’ll be a chance for a square deal, or something near it,” said Bannister. “Tommy, I’m sure mighty glad to see you. If you’re not doing anything, as you said, maybe you’ll stick around for a while. I can use you, Tommy, and you’re the only man from down below that I’d trust. Oh, don’t squint. This is all on the level, all clean as a blue bird’s wing. C’mon. We’ve got to have a talk somewhere.”

  The two of them walked behind the tents until they came to an opening where they could gain the street. As the drawing now was in progress, the street was practically deserted. They walked up between the rows of booths and resorts and finally dropped into a drinking place near the end of the street. There were a few games in progress and at the rear of the tent there were some tables and a small lunch counter. They sat down at one of the tables and ordered sandwiches and beer. Then Bannister began talking in a low voice intended for Tommy Gale’s ears alone.

  He told his friend from the south everything that had taken place from the time of his arrival at the Half Diamond and in Prairie City to the present moment; explained how he had met Howard Marble and had the run-in with Le Beck; how he had met Florence and then Cromer; how he had come to go to the ranch; his visits to Marble; the irrigation situation; the rustling and his encounter with unknown persons he believed to be rustlers with the resulting loss of his horse and gun, and finished with the presence of Le Beck and Hayes in town this day, conniving, as he believed, in a plot against him.

  Tommy took a bite of his sandwich, a swallow of beer, and looked at Bannister respectfully. “You sure can do it,” he said, more or less in admiration. “You get more action for your time an’ money than any man on earth. The only way I can have an adventure is to get drunk an’ get in a fight. An’ then I’m liable to get licked. I got licked once.”

  Bannister chuckled. “Well, it looks as though you could have an adventure up here, Tommy, if you want to trail along with me a while.” He hadn’t seen fit to tell Tommy about the deal he had made with Sheriff Campbell, but now he decided to do so and accordingly did.

  Tommy stared, wide-eyed, this time. “Everybody’s got their soft spots, I reckon,” he observed. “Do you think that much of her, Bob?”

  Bannister frowned. “Well, if you want to put it that way,” he said slowly, “I do.”

  Tommy whistled softly. “All right, I’ll trail along,” he said finally. “What do you want me to do first?”

  “First and last I don’t want anybody to see us hobno
bbing together if we can help it,” said Bannister. “Now it’s getting along toward six o’clock and I’ll have to show up at the hotel. Suppose you wait around up here till I get back. And say, Tommy, don’t go for the hard stuff. We may have work ahead of us tonight. Somehow I’ve got a hunch that the pot’s going to boil over.”

  “I hope so,” said Tommy cheerfully. “Go ahead. I’ll sit in a game till you get back.”

  When Bannister reached the hotel, he ran into Sheriff Campbell. He addressed the sheriff at once, appearing pleased that they had met.

  “Campbell, I suppose you know Le Beck is in town,” he said in a tone of interrogation.

  “I’m watching him . . . and you, too, for that matter,” said the official.

  “I’ll stand watching, putting the meaning both ways,” said Bannister with a frown. “I suppose you know he’s in Cromer’s pay? Well, whether you know it or not, I know it. He’s been traveling with Hayes and two mean-looking Canadians all day, and I think they’re hatching up something. Now I’m playing square as a die with you, Sheriff”—Bannister’s tone was firm and convincing and he looked Campbell straight in the eyes—“and I’ll keep my word. I’ve found out a few things, and every move I make is in the interests of Florence Marble. I want you to know this and remember it. If that outfit of cutthroats starts anything with me, I’m going to get ’em all.”