Bullets in the Sun

by Robert J. Horton

  “Maybe,” Farlin replied shortly. “He’s plenty smart, though. What’s on Red’s mind?” He glanced sharply at the big man.

  “He wanted to know who your friend was.” Lester chuckled. “You know, nothing gets by Cole.”

  “Nothing except a danger signal,” remarked Farlin dryly. “And if I’m not mistaken, he’ll get one soon if he monkeys around over there.” He nodded toward the roulette table where Bond was again preparing to play, with Cole edging in beside him.

  Lester looked and frowned. “He hasn’t got any orders from me,” he said, half to himself. “Cole an’ you have some trouble in the game last night?”

  Farlin glanced at him coldly. “Lawson tell you that Cole flew off the handle because he was losing?” he inquired.

  Lester shook his head. “Some of the others mentioned it, an’ it got around,” he said. “You know such things won’t keep, Dan. By the way, I’d like for you to run the game tonight as usual. You don’t have to cut your winnings if you feel that way about it. I’m not cheap, Dan. I suppose you’ve got a game comin’ up.”

  “Don’t know a thing about it,” said Farlin. “Haven’t seen Lawson since this morning, and . . . listen, Tom, I’m going to lay off for a couple of days when Lawson’s outfit beats it.”

  “Yeah?” Lester looked startled. “What’s the matter, Dan? I don’t believe you’re feelin’ good, although you sure look all right.”

  “I feel as good as you say I look.” Farlin frowned. “I’ve got some personal business to attend to, that’s all. I may run out of town, and I’ll expect you to look out for Gladys while I’m gone. Maybe she won’t sing for a night or two, but I’m not sure.”

  Lester now was genuinely alarmed and showed it. “Come in the office, Dan,” he invited, turning toward the door.

  “No.” Farlin halted him. “It isn’t necessary to go in there, and it doesn’t look good for us to be having so many private talks. I don’t want to start this Lawson outfit wondering.”

  Lester turned back to the bar, biting his lip in perplexity. Finally he looked squarely at the gambler.

  “Dan, let’s have a showdown,” he said. “You ain’t figuring on blowing the town, are you? Because if you are . . . that is . . .”

  “If I am, I should give you a chance to fill my place, eh?” said Farlin grimly. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? You’ve had that chance a long time, Tom. If you’d known anybody who could run these big games better, or who would run ’em as square, you’d have tried to get rid of me long ago. I don’t have to give you notice if I want to blow this town, and I’m on my own from here on in.”

  Lester remembered what Lawson had said about not visiting the place again if Farlin left. Other good customers might feel the same way.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said in a smooth voice. “It’s only that I don’t want you to go, Dan. An’ I can’t see where you could do any better anywhere else. Make what you can, an’ give me my rake-off, an’ I’ll be satisfied.”

  Both looked toward the roulette table as a clear, cold voice reached their ears. Jim Bond and Red Cole were standing back a pace from the table, looking at each other.

  “You one of the bosses here?” Bond asked sharply.

  “That’s for you to find out,” Cole retorted with a sneer.

  Bond looked at the croupier. “Didn’t you tell me a while ago that twenty dollars was the limit?” he demanded.

  “That was before ten o’clock,” replied the houseman, looking past him at Big Tom, who gave no sign.

  “I see.” Bond nodded. “The limit changes every hour . . . is that it?” The last words cracked in the air.

  “Suppose it does?” purred Red Cole as a hush fell over the room. “That reason enough to kick on my bet?” He put his hands on his hips and thrust his chin forward.

  “It might be,” Bond retorted. “Did anybody ever tell you how you act right free with strangers?”

  “If they get fresh, I put ’em where they belong,” said Cole.

  Bond laughed—at least the spectators thought it was a laugh. Lester knew better, and he started forward as Dan Farlin caught his arm and drew him back. “Let’s see what this youngster’s got,” said the gambler for Lester’s benefit alone. The big man halted. But Cole had seen this little by-play out of the corner of his eye. He had seen Farlin disappear with the stranger for a short space, too. Cole’s dislike for Farlin had changed to hatred in the early morning hours. The man before him might be a friend of Farlin’s.

  “You won’t be bothered putting me in my place,” Jim Bond was saying, “I’m already there.”

  Someone in the crowd chuckled, and Cole’s face darkened. “If you’re lookin’ for trouble, you’ve come to headquarters, you . . .”

  “Don’t call me any names.” Everyone in the place and even in the street outside heard the words distinctly. Bond left his annoyer no alternative whatsoever.

  “You . . . you . . .” Cole was inarticulate with the rage swelling within him. He caught sight of the calm, handsome face of Farlin. “You son-of-a-bitch.”

  The epithet hardly had time to escape the bully’s lips when Bond’s left palm smacked across his mouth. The slap sounded like a crash of glass to the stunned onlookers. It was so unexpected that Big Tom Lester shouted involuntarily: “Don’t draw!”

  The warning was too late, so far as Bond was concerned, and was not needed by Cole, for Bond’s gun was in his hand, held steady at his hip, and none present had seen the move, except, possibly, Dan Farlin.

  “Now we understand each other,” said Bond. “What is it . . . peace or war? I came here for a visit, and I haven’t changed my mind. If anybody snapped you onto me, that goes for him, or them, too. Do we both stay, or does one of us stay alone?”

  This time Lester did not hesitate, and Farlin did not attempt to stop him. The big man stepped between the principals in the drama with three swift strides. “Cut it out!” he roared. “That goes for you, too, Red. I mean it.”

  A number of Lawson’s other men had crowded behind Cole, and Bond had noted their hostile looks. Two or three of them whispered to Cole. And at this moment the music struck up and the voice of Gladys Farlin floated clearly in song.

  The interruption had its effect in disconcerting Cole and his followers. The murmur of voices rose to a pitch that drowned the words he spoke to Bond. The latter merely threw back his head with a short laugh, sheathed his gun like magic, and turned to the table. Cole moved away and was soon hemmed in at the bar.

  Lester stood irresolutely while the girl finished the short song. He eyed Bond narrowly as the newcomer resumed his play for higher stakes. Then he spoke to Farlin, who had followed him.

  “He just got here,” he said. “Did you see that draw? Fast as light. Maybe it’s Bovert.” He paused, asking Farlin the question with his eyes.

  “If it is, you’d better leave him alone,” said Farlin with a faint smile. “He’s too fast for Cole, and that means he’s too fast for you. I reckon he can take care of himself without your ordering him to be left alone.” The gambler turned away and strolled out of the place.

  Farlin walked rapidly down the street to a small house that was set back between two other buildings. As he reached it, Ed Lawson came out the door and closed it quickly behind him. The outlaw stopped short as Farlin hailed him in a low voice.

  “Hello, Dan. Startin’ the roundup for the night this early?” he greeted.

  “No,” returned the gambler. “Go down to the Arrow and take a look at what just blew in. Anybody’ll point him out to you. He just called Red proper, and made Red take it. If you can place him, I want to know for my own reasons.”

  “Sure,” Lawson consented. “Ain’t this bloodthirsty gent you’re lookin’ for, is it?”

  “Might be,” growled Farlin. “Take a look-see, Ed. And do me a favor, will you . . . without asking any questions?”

  “That’ll depend,” said Lawson, looking puzzled.

  “Call off the high play
for tonight,” said Farlin.

  Lawson’s bushy brows went up. “You don’t want to play?” he said in amazement. He peered closely at Farlin’s face. “What’s behind it, Dan?”

  “I may go away for a day or two,” Farlin finally replied.

  “I see.” Lawson’s eyes gleamed with comprehension. “Maybe I’ll take my bunch out for a week or so.” He nodded. “An’, by the way, Dan, Lester told me you was actin’ sort of queer, an’ I told him to handle you with silk gloves, so he understood . . . see?”

  “Thanks,” said Farlin wryly, and walked rapidly away.

  Meanwhile, with Farlin absent—a coincidence that annoyed him—Big Tom found opportunity to speak privately to Porky Snyder.

  “I’m giving you a last chance,” he told the evil-eyed gun-toter. “You might as well know it. It won’t be hard for you to figure out that it’ll be wise to stay jake with me, an’ this time it means a couple of hundred in your pocket, maybe five, but I ain’t promising till I see how you perform.”

  Porky looked about the card room, deserted but for the two of them, avoided Lester’s eyes, and stared at the blank wall with a queer expression, as if he saw the handwriting upon it. He flashed a single glance at his boss.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” said Big Tom quickly in a whispering voice, “but you couldn’t get away with it, Porky. In the first place, you wouldn’t gain anything by bumping me off in the dark, an’ in the second place you ain’t got nerve enough to do it. You fall down in a big pinch, Porky, an’ you know it. Oh, you’ve got notches in your gun, but how’d you get ’em? You’d be runnin’ with Lawson right now if Lawson would have you. But he don’t want you. You can’t go out on your own because you ain’t got the brains. I’ve looked after you for five years or so an’ you’d starve to death if you left or anything happened to me now.” The speaker lighted a cigar and missed the flash of fire in Porky’s eyes. It was not always best to be too frank with a man like this. The taunt found its mark and Porky trembled with suppressed desire. Lester did not realize he was treading dangerous ground.

  “Listen hard,” said Lester with a scowl, “an’ don’t let what you hear go any farther than that door.” He put a huge hand on the smaller man’s arm and gripped him. “Farlin is goin’ away for a day or two, he tells me,” he said, lowering his voice. “Hinted he might go out of town . . . on business. There’s only one place I’ve ever known him to go when the season was on, an’ that’s Rocky Point. I want to know if he does go there, an’ I want you to hang out in the trees along the creek to see. That’s worth the two hundred I mentioned. If you can find out what he goes there for, if he does go there, it’ll be worth the five hundred I also mentioned. An’ I don’t care if he sees you or not so long as you get back to report.”

  Porky rubbed the side of his nose, thinking. “I’ve got to know if you an’ Farlin are still . . . still all right,” he murmured.

  “You’ve got to know what I tell you, an’ that’s all,” said Lester angrily. “You can take this on or not. Suit yourself.” He turned to the door. “But remember . . .”

  “Forget it,” said Porky in a tone the big man never before had heard him use. “Gimme some expense money.”

  With an oath, Lester drew out a roll of bills and handed one to him. “There’s fifty,” he growled. “Tell yourself that’s got to be enough an’ you’ll be playin’ safe.”

  He stepped out of the room into the narrow corridor at the rear of the main room and stopped short with another oath. The newcomer was strolling ahead of him. He strode toward him and touched him on the arm.

  “Was you lookin’ for something in here?” he asked, glowering into the other’s eyes.

  “Yes,” said Bond, brightening. “I thought maybe a tall game might be operating somewhere back here and needing a customer.”

  The ready, suave reply was disarming. The stranger had given every indication of wanting to gamble, and to gamble strong. Where was Farlin?

  “What’s your name?” Lester demanded. “I’m the big shot around here.”

  “Name’s Bond . . . Jim Bond,” was the reply, without an instant’s hesitation. “And I knew you were the big gun first sight.”

  “Huh!” snorted Lester. Confound that man Mills! “You seem to know Farlin. Didn’t he tell you maybe you could get accommodated?”

  “Well, where is he?” was the eager counter-question.

  “Hang around,” said Lester, unconsciously repeating Farlin’s admonition. He frowned heavily, for there were a number of queries he would have liked to put to the man who regarded him so coolly. “Stay out in front,” he ordered, and looked behind to make sure that Porky had not yet left the card room.

  “Sure,” said Bond. “Maybe it would help if you slipped him the good word.” He walked on ahead of Lester, while the latter motioned with his hand at his side lest Porky should follow them.

  But Porky had no intention of following. He had listened at the door to the verbal exchange between Lester and Bond and had stolen a look at the stranger who he had seen draw down on Red Cole. The incident had been a source of gratification, for he disliked Cole and believed Lawson’s lieutenant had prevented him from joining the outlaw’s band. He turned back into the room and closed the door. He sat down at the table and drew a pack of cards from a side pocket of his coat. He shuffled them and began to deal solitaire.

  Porky Snyder no longer was young. Big Tom’s words had rankled and stung because they had carried the edge of truth. Porky realized only too well that he had been, and was at that minute, dependent on the proprietor of the Red Arrow. His eyes narrowed; he stopped dealing and stared thoughtfully at the blank wall. There had been some sort of a break between Lester and Farlin. Otherwise, why should Lester be so interested in Farlin’s movements all of a sudden? And, while Porky had been spying for Lester, he also had been seeing a thing or two for himself and jumping at conclusions. He had seen Farlin and Lawson in conference. They had talked so low he could not hear a word in the restaurant, and that meant they were speaking confidentially. There had been every indication that the two were on exceptionally friendly terms. Porky’s eyes glistened. How would he choose, if given an opportunity, between Lester and the other two? He smiled to himself. Moreover, if there had been a break between the gambler and Lester, it could mean but one thing—one or the other would have to leave town. Now, Farlin was going away for a day or two. Lester hadn’t said when; that was for Porky to learn. He would have to be ready. But there was a more important thought in the little gunman’s brain. He had been given a last chance. Why should he stay? If he could get hold of some money—a good sum of money . . .

  The door opened and Farlin stepped inside. Behind him came Red Cole and others of Lawson’s outfit, and Jim Bond. The gambler, in the lead, scowled.

  “Beat it!” he ordered in a tone of contempt.

  “An’ make it fast,” Cole put in, his hand dropping to his gun.

  Porky slipped out, noting a curious look on the face of the stranger, Bond.

  Cole swept the cards Porky had left on the table to the floor with a curse. When the newcomers were seated, every chair of the seven about the table was occupied.

  “A thousand-dollar change-in?” asked Farlin, breaking open a new pack of cards.

  Before anyone could reply, the door opened and Ed Lawson’s big form loomed in the doorway. Two men rose, each offering his place. Farlin looked up, apparently but mildly interested, and saw Big Tom Lester peering over Lawson’s shoulder with a scowl on his face.

  “Never mind,” said Lawson to the two men who were standing, “I’m not taking a hand.” He looked at Cole and shook his head. “No game,” he said sternly.

  “What’s that?” cried Cole in astonishment.

  “You heard me,” said Lawson sternly, his eyes narrowing. “I said, no game! We’re leaving town.”

  Cole rose, his face dark. He wet his lips, looked from Farlin to Bond, and back at Lawson.

  Lawson jerked his
head toward the door. “I’ll follow you boys out,” he said sharply.

  Cole nodded to the others and went out, with the Lawson men following and the outlaw leader himself bringing up the rear.

  Jim Bond leaned back in his chair, looking from Farlin to Lester, and burst into laughter. “I reckon there’s more than one boss in this joint,” he said loudly. Another tantalizing outburst drove Lester from the room.

  Chapter Eight

  A silver moon, full and bright, rode high in the eastern sky. Yellow beams of lamplight streaked the main street of Sunrise, but elsewhere the deep shadows closed in under the trees. There was a square of orange in the window of the Farlin cabin, denoting a light left on in the living room against the return of Gladys. The air was still and sweetly scented.

  There was a flutter of white on the wide path that led up the slope above the trees to the Farlin abode. Then a dark figure was outlined in the moonlight and both became motionless.

  “Good evening, Miss Farlin.” It was Jim Bond’s voice.

  “Isn’t this a . . . strange appearance?” said Gladys coldly.

  “Not at all,” Bond assured her. “I just had to see you and have a word with you after the way we were introduced, that’s all.”

  “Don’t you suppose I know how we came to be introduced?” The girl’s tone carried a hint of scorn. “That was the first time my father ever introduced me to a man like you in this town. Oh, I don’t blame him. I know my father is a gambler. It seemed natural enough in the beginning, but tonight he had to introduce you in order to get you into a game. Every man has his price . . . I’ve found that out, Mister Bond.”

  “Maybe so,” Bond agreed. “But my price is higher than you think. I told your dad I would clear this thing up and put him right. He didn’t like the idea a little bit, but I don’t see how he can help himself. He’s not a bad sort, and he wasn’t bribed in any such way as you think, Miss Gladys.”

  “I don’t think he has to have you speak for him,” said Gladys in a haughty voice, “and I’m not going to listen to any . . .”