Tex

by B. M. Bower

  *CHAPTER X*

  *SPEED AND GUILE*

  Tex and Tommy said their adieus, watched Jane enter the house, and thenrode slowly toward the station where, after a few words with JerrySaunders, Tommy went on alone, leaving Tex talking with the agent.

  The C Bar puncher rode down the main street full of more kinds ofemotion than he ever had known before, and among them was a strongfeeling of his inability to gain Jane's attention while Tex Jones wasaround. Jealousy was working in the yeasty turbulence of his heart andmind. Taking off his perforated sombrero he gazed at it as though itwere something sacred. There they were, two of them, made by herblessed bullets! Reverently pushing the ragged felt of their rims backinto place, he patted the nearly closed holes and put the sombrero onhis head again. There would be no new hat for Tommy Watkins, as she hadlaughingly said. No, sir! No, sir-e-e!

  Opposite the hotel he became aware of his surroundings and suddenlydecided that he needed a drink to steady himself, to shock himself intoa more natural condition of mind. As he made the decision, he idlyobserved Bud Haines emerge from the door of the general store and starttoward him on the peculiar, bow-legged, choppy stride he so muchaffected. And as Tommy swung off the horse and carelessly tossed thereins across the tie-rail he caught sight of Tex Jones waving to theagent and slowly wheeling the roan.

  Tommy made his way through the card-table end of the room, noticingwithout giving any particular weight to the fact, that he was thecynosure of all eyes. Still strange to himself and very much occupiedby his thoughts, he did not note whether there were six or two dozen menin the room; nor that their eager and low-voiced conversation abruptlyceased upon his entry, and that there was an air of expectancy whichseemed to fill the room. He passed Henry Williams, who was seated at asmall table, with a nod and rested his elbows on the bar. Silently abottle and glass were placed before him, silently he poured out a drinkand downed it mechanically. Then Henry spoke, his ratlike eyes for amoment not shifting.

  "That's a fenced range," he said in a low, tense voice. "You keep offit!"

  Tommy, not realizing that the words were intended for him, still restedhis elbows on the bar, his back to the speaker and the rest of the room,buried in his abstractions. He neither saw nor heard the quiet, quickentry of Bud Haines through the front door, nor knew that the gunmanstopped suddenly and leaned against the jamb. Neither he, nor anyoneelse, caught the quiet step nearing that same door from the street.

  Henry Williams, finding his warning totally ignored, let his anger leapto rage.

  "You!" he snarled. "I'm talking to you, Watkins!"

  Tommy started and swung around, momentarily out of touch with hissurroundings. The meanness in the voice, the deadly timbre of it,warned him subconsciously rather than acutely, and he stared at thespeaker.

  "What you say, Williams?" he asked, rapidly sensing the hostility in theair. "I was thinkin' of somethin'," he explained.

  "I'm givin' you somethin' to think about!" retorted Henry, slowlyarising and slowly leaning forward on the table. "You don't want tostop thinkin' about it, neither--unless you want to join th' dead uns onBoot Hill. I said that range is fenced--_you keep off_!"

  Tommy, alert as a coiled snake now, watched the angry man while heconsidered. A fenced range. He was to keep off. "I ain't gettin' th'drift of that," he said, slowly. "Any reason why you shouldn't talk soI'll know what yo're meanin'?"

  "Yo're dumb as h--l, ain't you?" sneered Henry, his voice rising shrillyand the little, close-set eyes beginning to flame. "I wouldn't havenobody say you wasn't warned plain. I'm tellin' you for th' last time,to do yore courtin' somewhere else! I'm claimin' that Saunder gal.Keep away, that's all!"

  Tommy went a little white around his stiffening lips. When his wordscame they sounded the spirit of the C Bar, but where they came from hedid not know; perhaps he had heard them or read them somewhere.Certainly they did not by right belong to his direct method of conveyingthought. He knew Henry Williams, his baseness, his petty villainies,his bestial nature. The picture of Jane, innocent and sweet, came tohim and made a contrast which sickened him. Looking straight intoHenry's eyes his voice rasped its insulting, deadly reply.

  "It's bad enough for a coyote like me to admire a rose; but I'm d--d ifany polecat's goin' to pluck it!"

  Before the words were all spoken and before either of the disputantscould move they heard the startling crash of a gun and instinctivelyglanced toward the sound. They saw Bud Haines, his smoking revolverforced slowly up behind his back, higher and higher, the gun wristgripped in the sinewy fingers of Tex Jones, whose right hand held hisown Colt at his hip, the deadly muzzle covering the two in front of thebar, without a tremble of its steely barrel. His gripping fingers kepton twisting, while one knee held the killer from writhing sidewise toescape the grip of the punishing bending of the imprisoned arm. Slowlythe tortured muscles grew numb, slowly beads of perspiration stood outon the killer's forehead, and as his throbbing elbow neared the snappingpoint, he gasped, released his hold on the Colt and then went spinningacross the room from the power of his captor's whirling shove. When hestopped he froze in his tracks, for Tex carelessly held two guns now,the captured weapon covering its owner.

  "Phew!" sighed Tex, a grin slowly spreading across his red face. "Thatwas close, that was! Reckon I done saved quite a mess in here." Heglared at Tommy. "You get th' h--l out of here an' don't come back tillyou know how to act! Runnin' around like a mad dog, tryin' to kill menthat never done you no harm! G'wan, or I'll let Hennery loose at you! Iheard what you said, an' I wouldn't blame him if he blowed you wideopen! G'wan! Shove that gun back where it belongs, an' git: _Pronto_!You've gone an' got Bud an' me bad friends, I reckon, an' I can't hardlyblame him, neither."

  Henry's eyes were riveted on the menacing Colt, his hand frozen where ithad stopped, a few inches above the butt of his own. Bud Haines leanedforward, balanced on the balls of his feet, but not daring to leap. Thespectators were staring, open-mouthed, quite content to let things taketheir course without any impetus from them.

  Tommy sullenly slid the gun back into its holster and walked toward thedoor, too angry to speak. Glaring at Tex he went out, mounted and rodetoward the ranch; and it was half an hour later before he came to therealization that his life had been saved from a shot from the side, andby the time he had reached the ranchhouse he was grinning.

  Tex flipped the captured gun into the air, caught it by the barrel, andtossed it, butt first, to the killer. "I shore am apologizin' to you,Bud," he said, "for cuttin' in that way--but I had to act sudden, an'rough."

  As the weapon settled into its owner's hand it roared and leaped, thebullet cutting Tex's vest under the armpit. Before a second shot couldfollow from it Bud twisted sidewise and plunged face down on the floor.

  Tensed like a panther about to spring, Tex peered through the thinningcloud of smoke rising from his hip, his attention on the others in theroom. "Sorry," he said. "You saw it all. I gave him his gun, buttfirst, an' he shot at me with it. Clipped my vest under my leftshoulder. I couldn't do nothin' else. I'm sayin' that doin' favors forstrangers is risky business--but is anybody findin' any fault with thisshootin'?" He glanced quickly from face to face and then noddedslightly. "It was plain self-defense. If I'd 'a' thought he wasa-goin' to shoot I shore wouldn't 'a' chucked him his loaded gun.Reckon I'm a plain d--d fool!"

  There were no replies to him. The tense faces stared at the man who hadkilled Bud Haines in a fight after the killer had shot first. Whilethere were no accusations in their expressions, neither was there anyfriendliness. The killing had been justified. This seemed to be thecollective opinion, for in no way could the facts be changed. Bud hadbeen man-handled in a manner which to him had been an unbearable insult,the fight could be considered as of his adversary's starting, but theactual shooting was as the victor claimed; and it was the shooting whichthey were to judge.

  Tex, feeling r
uefully of the bullet-torn vest, shoved his gun into itssheath and went over to Henry's table. The nephew hardly had movedsince the first shot.

  "I got somethin' to talk to you about, Henry," said Tex in a low,confidential voice. "'Tain't for everybody's ears, neither; so sit downa minute. That fool Watkins came cuttin' in as we was ridin' back, or Imight have more news."

  Henry slowly followed his companion's movements and straddled his chair.He motioned to the bartender for drinks and then let his suspicious eyeswander over his companion's face. He had a vast respect for Tex Jones.

  "I reckon he's been cured of cuttin' in," he growled, a momentary gleamshowing. "That's a habit of yourn, too," he said. "An' it's a cussedbad one, here in Windsor."

  Tex spread his hands in helpless resignation. "I know it. Ever sinceI've been in this town I been puttin' my worst foot forward. I'm allusbunglin' things; an' just when I was beginnin' to make a few friends,Bud had to go an' git blind mad an' spoil everythin'. I didn't havenothin' ag'in' Bud; but I reckon mebby I was a little mite rough."

  "Oh, Bud be d--d!" coldly retorted Henry. "He had th' edge, an' lost.That's between him an' you. What I'm objectin' to, Jones, is th' way youspoiled my plans. Don't you never cut into my affairs like you did justnow. I'm tellin' you fair. I'm admittin' yo're a prize-winnin'gun-thrower; but there's other ways in this town. Savvy?"

  Tex shook his head apologetically and nodded. "You an' me ain't goin' tohave no trouble, Hennery," he declared earnestly. "If you want that CBar fool, go git him. It ain't none of my business. But I'm worryin'about what yore uncle's goin' to say about me shootin' Bud," heconfessed with plain anxiety. "He's a big man, Williams is; an' me,shucks: I ain't nothin' a-tall."

  "He'll take my say-so," assured Henry, "after he cools down. Now whatyou got to tell me?"

  "It's about that Saunders gal," answered Tex. He hitched his chair alittle nearer to the table. "You remember what I told you, couple ofnights ago? Well, I got to thinkin' about it when I was near th' stationyesterday, so I went in an' got friendly with her brother." He rubbedhis chin and grinned reminiscently. "There was a box across th' trackthat he had been using for a target. I asked him what it was an' hetold me, an' he said he couldn't hit it. I sort of egged him on, notbelievin' him; an' shore enough he couldn't--an', Hennery, it was nearas big as a house! I cut loose an' made a sieve of it--you must 'a'heard th' shootin'? His eyes plumb stuck out, an' we got to talkin'shootin'. Finally he ups an' asks me can I show his sister how to throwa gun an', seein' my chance to learn somethin' about her, I said I shorecould show anybody that wasn't scared to death of one, an' that had anysense. 'How much will you charge for th' lessons?' says he. I had agood chance to pick up some easy money, but that wasn't what I wasplayin' for. I just wanted to get sort of friendly with her, an' him,too. I says, 'Nothin'.' Well, we fixed it up, an' today we goes offpracticin'--you should 'a' seen that lunch, Hennery! I'm cussed nearenvyin' you!" He laughed contentedly, leaned back, and rubbed hisstomach.

  "Well?" demanded Henry, grinning ruefully.

  "Well," echoed Tex. "You know that sewin' an' crochetin' is a whole lotdifferent from shootin' a .45; an' so does she, now. I reckon a .22would 'most scare her to death. Did you ever shoot with yore eyes shut?You don't have to try: it can't be done, an' hit nothin'. Six-guns an'wimmin wasn't never made to mix; an' they shore don't. We ate up th'lunch an' started back ag'in, an' I was just gettin' set to swing th'conversation in yore direction, carelesslike, but real careful, an' seewhat I could find out for you, when cussed if that C Bar coyote didn'tcome dustin' up, an' I don't know any more than I did before. But I'mriskin' one thing, Hennery: I'm near shore she ain't got nothin' ag'in'you; an' on th' way out, when I refers to you she speaks up quicklike,with her nose turned up a little, an' says: 'Henry Williams? Why, he'llbe a rich man some day, when his uncle dies. Ain't some folks bornlucky, Mr. Jones?' Hennery, there ain't none of 'em that are overlookin'th' good old pesos, U.S. You keep right on like you are; an' save me afront seat at th' weddin'."

  Henry sat back, buried in thought. He glanced at the huddled figurenear the door and then looked quickly into his companion's bland eyes."Her brother's dead set ag'in' it. He knows he done me a dirty trick,stealin' my job, an' like lots of folks, instead of hatin' hisself, hehates me. Human nature's funny that way. So he can't hit a box, hey?"

  Tex chuckled and nodded. "He up an' says he's so plumb disgusted withhisself that he ain't never goin' to tote a gun again, not never. Seemsto me yo're doin' a lot of foolish worryin' about losin' that job. Thatain't no job to worry about. If I was Gus Williams' only relation, youwouldn't see me lookin' for no jobs! You shore got th' wrong idea,Hennery. What do you want to work for, anyhow?"

  "Well," considered the nephew of the uncle who some day would die, "thatis one way of lookin' at it; but, Tex, he did me out of it. That'swhat's rilin' me!"

  Tex leaned back and laughed heartily. "Hennery, you make me laugh! IfI got mad an' riled at every dog that barked at me I'd be plumb souredfor life by this time. A man like you should be above holdin' grudgesag'in' fellers like Saunders. It ain't worth th' risk of spoilin' yoredisposition. Let him have his dried-out bone: you would 'a' dropped itquick enough, anyhow. An' if it wasn't for him gettin' thattwo-by-nothin' old job you wouldn't never 'a' seen his sister, wouldyou? Ever think about it like that? Well, what you think? Had Ibetter try to go ridin' with her ag'in an' git her to talkin'? Or shallI set back an' only keep my eyes an' ears open?"

  "What's interestin' you so much in this here affair?" questioned Henry,his glance resting for a moment on the face of his companion.

  "Well, I ain't got that letter," confessed Tex, slyly; "an' what's more,I'm afraid I ain't goin' to get it, neither, th' coyote. He lets mecome out here, near th' end of th' track, an' then lets me hold th'sack. Time's comin' when I'll be needin' a job; an' yo're aces-up withyore uncle." He grinned engagingly. "My cards is face up. I got tolook out for myself."

  Henry laughed softly. "You shore had me puzzled," he replied. "Well,we'll see what we see. I don't hardly know, yet, what kind of a job youought to have. There's good jobs, an' poor jobs. An' while I think ofit, Tex, you'd mebby better go ridin' with her ag'in. But don't youforget what I was sayin' about there bein' other ways than gun-throwin'in Windsor. I----"

  The low hum of conversation about them ceased as abruptly as did Henry'swords. He was looking at the door, and sensing danger, Tex pushed backquietly and followed his companion's gaze. Jake, under the influence ofliquor, stood in the doorway, a gun in his upraised hand, staring withunbelieving eyes at the body of Bud Haines.

  "Stop that fool!" whispered Tex. "I've done too much killin' today: an'he's drunk!"

  Henry arose and walked quietly, swiftly toward the vengeful miner, whonow turned and looked about the room. A spasm of rage shot through himand his hand chopped down, but Henry knocked it aside and the heavybullet scored the wall. Two men near the door leaped forward at thenephew's call and after a short struggle, Jake was disarmed, pacified,and sent on his way again.

  Tex dropped his gun back into the holster and went up to the nephew."Much obliged, Hennery," he said. "I've been expectin' him most everyminute an' I'm glad you handled it so good. Where's he been keepin'hisself, anyhow?"

  "Out in his cabin, nursin' his grudge," answered Henry. "He's one ofthem kind. He's got it chalked up ag'in' you, Tex, an' it'll smolderan' smolder, no tellin' how long. Then it'll bust out ag'in, like itdid just now. Keep out of his way--he's a good man, Jake is. He's afriend of mine."

  "That's good enough for me," Tex assured him. "I ain't got no grudgeag'in' Jake. It's th' other way 'round. Reckon I'll put up my cayuse.See you later."