The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  Dunlavey had said nothing. He stood beside Watkins’s desk, still self-possessed, the mocking smile still on his face, though into his eyes had come a doubting, worried expression. Plainly he had not anticipated such drastic action from Allen.

  The latter laughed grimly, quietly. “Sort of unexpected, wasn’t it, Bill?” he said, addressing Dunlavey. “It ain’t just the sort of politics that you’ve been used to. But I’m kind of used to it myself. Had to pull the same game off over in Colfax County when I was runnin’ for sheriff the first time. It worked, too, because the folks that was mixed up in it knowed I wasn’t ringing in any bluff.” He looked at Dunlavey with a level, steady gaze, his eyes gleaming coldly. “If you think I’m bluffing now, chirp for some one of your pluguglies to bust into this game. I’d sort of like to let off my campaign guns into your dirty gizzard!”

  Hollis had been watching Dunlavey closely. There was no fear in the man’s eyes; even the doubt and worry that had been there had disappeared and his expression was now mildly ironical, contrasting oddly with the demeanor of Watkins—who was plainly frightened—and that of Greasy—who smirked and showed his teeth like some beast at bay and in fear of death. It was evident that Dunlavey possessed the spirit of the fighter, that indomitable courage which enables a man to face any situation and still retain his presence of mind, which permits him to face death unafraid and unyielding. In spite of the enmity that had existed between them from the beginning, Hollis had always respected Dunlavey for these very qualities, and within the last few minutes that respect had grown.

  Dunlavey’s eyes gleamed as he looked at Allen. “I don’t think you would try to work any bluff on me, Allen,” he said quietly. “You’ve took me by surprise, that’s a fact. But let’s get down to business. What’s your game?”

  “I reckon that’s a sensible way to look at it,” returned Allen evenly. “That’s the way I expected you’d look at it when you begun to realize that I was holding some pretty good cards. There ain’t nothing personal in this; I’m out for a square deal and I’m going to get it. I want you to understand that I’m running this game to-night and I’m running it square. If I get enough votes I’m going to be the next sheriff. If I don’t get enough votes Bill Watkins’ll be it. But the votes are going to be real votes. I ain’t figuring on letting your gang pack in here and keep my friends from voting.

  “I’m going to put your hat on this table. Then Norton will open the door and let one man come in. That man will vote—for whoever he pleases. Then Mr. Hollis will let him out the back door and Norton will let another man in the front. There won’t be any row. I’m telling you that you and Bill Watkins and Greasy are going to set here and watch the voting. I’m going to stand behind you with one of my guns tucked under your fifth rib. If you, or Watkins, or Greasy let out a yawp that can be construed as a signal for anyone to bust into the game, or if there’s anything started by your friends which ain’t your doing, I’m going to pump six chunks of lead into you so fast that they’ll be playing tag with one another going through. I reckon you get me. That ends the palaver.”

  He arose, snatched Dunlavey’s hat from his head, placed it on the table, and walked behind Dunlavey, standing against the wall.

  “Open the door!” he directed, looking at Norton.

  CHAPTER XXV

  HANDLING THE LAW

  Norton opened the door a trifle and called “One man at a time!” There were some hoarse shouts from without—presumably from Dunlavey’s friends; a chorus of derisive laughter from Allen’s. Then the first man entered.

  It was Ace. The poet stood for an instant, blinking at the light, then he grinned as his gaze rested on the occupants of the room. He was directed how to cast his ballot. He took the piece of paper that was given him by Norton, scrawled “Allen” across it with a pencil that Norton had previously placed on the table, and dropped the paper into Dunlavey’s hat. Hollis opened the rear door for him, but he halted on the threshold, looking back into the room with a broad grin.

  “Gawd A’mighty!” he said in an awed tone; “there must have been a wad of money blowed in in this here town to-day! Drunks! Man alive there ain’t nothin’ but drunks; the town’s reelin’ with ’em! They’re layin’ in the street; there’s a dozen in the Silver Dollar an’ that many more in the Fashion—an’ Gawd knows how many more in the other saloons. Their heads is under the tables; they’re hangin’ on the walls an’ clawin’ around in spittoons—gle-or-i-ously, be-ut-i-fully paralyzed!”

  He was suddenly outside, pushed through the door by Hollis, and the door closed after him. Hollis glanced furtively at Dunlavey to see that gentleman scowl. He thought he saw a questioning glint in Allen’s eyes as the latter looked suddenly at him, but he merely smiled and gave his attention to the next man, who was now entering.

  The latter proved to be Lemuel Train. He did his voting quietly and grimly. But as he went out through the door that Hollis opened for him he growled: “Lordy, what a drunken bunch!” He looked at Hollis. “One of your men, too,” he said, grinning slightly. “I thought you taught them better!”

  Hollis frowned. He knew that Allen would need all his friends; none of them could be spared in this crisis. He smiled incredulously. It had been only a short time before that his men had accompanied him to the door of the sheriff’s office. At that time they were perfectly sober. It would have been impossible for any of them—

  “An’ Ten Spot’s a hummer when he gits started,” Train was saying. “I’ve seen him before when he cut loose an’ he sure is a holy terror!”

  Then with a word of parting Train was gone, saying that he had done all the “damage” he could and that he purposed “hitting” the trail back to his ranch.

  He had certainly done some damage to Hollis. The latter’s mind now rioted with all sorts of conjecture and he mechanically did his work of letting man after man out through the rear door, scarcely seeing them.

  He was aware of an odd expression that had come into Dunlavey’s eyes at the mention of Ten Spot. Had Dunlavey succeeded in bribing Ten Spot to desert him? He had left Ten Spot at the Circle Bar, not inviting him to Dry Bottom because he felt that the latter would rather not come since he had deserted Dunlavey. And Ten Spot had come to town anyway. What did it mean? Did it mean that Ten Spot had come to assist Dunlavey in nominating Watkins and defeating his new employer?

  He frowned again, and for the next few minutes gravely studied Dunlavey’s face. He was sure that the latter’s manner had changed. The mocking smile which had been on his face since his arrival at the sheriff’s office had been superseded by a huge grin—plainly of anticipation. Ten Spot—dangerous, reckless, drunk, at the head of a number of dissolute men, had it in his power to make things decidedly interesting should he advance on the sheriff’s office with the intention of assisting Dunlavey.

  Several times since hiring Ten Spot Hollis had doubted him. The suspicion had assailed him that perhaps the appearance of Ten Spot at the Hazelton cabin so opportunely had been a part of a plot by Dunlavey to place a spy in his employ. They might have purposely sacrificed Yuma.

  During the next quarter of an hour he gave more attention to Dunlavey than to the steady stream of men that passed through the room, though he recognized a goodly number as friends he had made during the latter days of the drought.

  Allen’s spirits had risen during the last quarter of an hour. His maneuver had dissipated Dunlavey’s strength and it was plain to be seen that a majority of the votes cast were for him. If nothing unusual or unexpected happened within the next hour, or until nine o’clock, the hour named in Watkins’s proclamation for the closing of the polls, he was assured of victory.

  Thoughts of the same character were passing through Hollis’s mind. There was silence in the office. A man was voting at the table—writing his favorite’s name on a piece of paper. Hollis consulted his watch. It lacked over an hour of the time for closing. The man at the table finished writing and tossed the paper into the hat. Hollis opened th
e rear door to allow him to go out. While the door remained open a sound floated in, which they all heard—an ear-splitting screech, followed instantly by a chorus of yells, a pistol report, more yells, and then a number of reports.

  Norton did not open the door. He exchanged glances with Hollis and Allen. Dunlavey grinned widely.

  “Something’s coming,” remarked Allen grimly.

  Dunlavey’s grin grew derisive. “It would sure be too bad if my friends should bust up this peace meeting,” he sneered.

  “There won’t be nothin’ spoiled,” grimly assured Allen. But he drew his other six-shooter.

  The sounds outside grew in volume as they swept toward the sheriff’s office. They broke presently at the door and an ominous silence succeeded. Then a voice reached the interior—harsh authoritative—Ten Spot’s voice.

  “Open up, you damned shorthorns!” it said.

  Norton looked at Allen. The latter’s face was pale. “They come in,” he directed, “like the others—one at a time.”

  Norton carefully withdrew the bar with which the door was fastened, swinging it open slightly. As he did so there was a sudden rush of bodies; Norton tried to jam the door shut, failed, and was flung back several steps by the surging, yelling crowd that piled tumultuously into the room.

  There were perhaps twenty of them and as they surged into the room, shouting and cursing and laughing Hollis recognized among them many men that he had come to know by sight. They were of the reckless, lawless element upon which Dunlavey had relied for his support—men of Ten Spot’s character. They had been drinking, but in spite of their laughter and loud talking it was plain to be seen that they had determined not to be balked in the purpose which had brought them into the office.

  There was now no need to guard the door; the damage had been wrought, and Norton backed away, leaving the door ajar, pale, grim eyed, alert, ready to take an active part in the trouble which he felt certain was sure to develop. Something in the faces of the men who had come in with Ten Spot proclaimed trouble.

  Allen had not moved. He still stood behind Dunlavey, but his weapons no longer menaced the Circle Cross manager; their muzzles, level and forbidding, were covering the other men.

  Standing quietly beside the rear door, his face pale, his eyes bright, his lips in straight lines, Hollis watched closely as the visitors, having gained entrance, gathered together in the center of the room. They were not awed by Allen’s weapons; they grinned hugely at him. One man, a young man of about Hollis’s age, bronzed, lean, reckless of eye, and unmistakably under the influence of liquor, lunged forward to Allen and stood within arm’s length of him, grinning at him.

  “Two guns!” he said with a laugh. “Why, I reckon you’d make a hell of a sheriff!”

  A chorus of laughter greeted the young cowboy’s words. Dunlavey grinned widely. “You boys are just in time,” he said.

  There was another roar of laughter. Many of the men seemed only now to have become aware of Dunlavey’s presence and they surged forward around him, disregarding Allen’s guns. The latter seemed to realize that the situation had passed beyond his control, for catching Hollis’s eye he smiled grimly and sheathed his weapons, seeking Hollis’s side.

  “It’s no use,” he said shortly to Hollis as he came near; “they’ll run things to suit themselves now. I wasn’t expectin’ Ten Spot to butt into the game.”

  “I reckon they’ve got us.” Norton had also sought Hollis’s side and the three stood near the rear door, watching the crowd around Dunlavey. Hollis tried to catch Ten Spot’s gaze but failed—the latter seemed studiously to avoid him.

  A wave of dull anger surged through Hollis’s veins. Until now the contest had been conducted fairly; they had given Dunlavey and Watkins an honest election, even though they had found it necessary to eliminate them as active participants. From now on he was assured the contest would be a joke—though a grim one. He had depended upon Allen’s success—it meant much to him. The thought of failure just when victory was within his grasp aroused him and in spite of Norton’s low word of caution he stepped forward and stood beside the table on which reposed the hat into which the ballots had been placed by the men who had previously voted. He intended to take personal charge of the hat, determined upon securing a fair deal in spite of the great odds.

  As he stepped forward he saw Greasy grin maliciously and try to snatch a gun from the holster of a cowboy who stood near him. This attempt was frustrated by the puncher, who suddenly dropped his hand to his holster, where it closed upon Greasy’s. The puncher snarled, muttered profanely, and struck furiously at Greasy, knocking him down in a corner.

  Other men moved. There were curses; the flashing of metal as guns came out. Hollis felt rather than saw Norton and Allen advance toward the table and stand beside him. A grim smile wreathed his face over the knowledge that in the crowd there were at least two men upon whom he might depend to the end—whatever the end might be.

  He heard Dunlavey snarl an oath, saw his big form loom out of the crowd, saw one of his gigantic hands reach for the hat on the table.

  “I reckon I’ll take charge of this now!” he sneered, his brutal face close to Hollis’s.

  Hollis would have struck the face that was so close to his, but at the instant he saw Dunlavey’s hand reach out for the hat he saw another hand dart out from the other side of the table, seize the hat, and draw it out of Dunlavey’s reach.

  “I don’t reckon that you’ll take charge of her!” said a voice.

  Hollis turned quickly. Over the table leaned Ten Spot, the captured hat in his hand, a big forty-five in the other, a cold, evil glitter in his eyes as he looked up at Dunlavey.

  “I don’t reckon that you’re goin’ to have a hand in runnin’ this show a-tall, Bill,” he sneered. “Me an’ my friends come down here special to tend to that.” He grinned the shallow, hard grin that marks the passing of a friendship and the dawn of a bitter hatred. “You see, Bill, me an’ my friends has got sorta tired of the way you’ve been runnin’ things an’ we’re shufflin’ the cards for a new deal. This here tenderfoot which you’ve been a-slanderin’ shameful is man’s size an’ we’re seein’ that he gits a fair shake in this here. I reckon you git me?”

  Hollis felt Norton poking him in the ribs, but he did not turn; he was too intent upon watching the two principal actors in the scene. Tragedy had been imminent; comedy was slowly gaining the ascendency. For at the expression that had come over Dunlavey’s face several of the men were grinning broadly. Were the stakes not so great Hollis would have felt like smiling himself. Dunlavey seemed stunned. He stood erect, passing his hand over his forehead as though half convinced that the scene were an illusion and that the movement of the hand would dispel it. Several times his lips moved, but no words came and he turned, looking about at the men who were gathered around him, scanning their faces for signs that would tell him that they were not in sympathy with Ten Spot. But the faces that he looked upon wore mocking grins and sneers.

  “An’ I’ve been tellin’ the boys how you set Yuma on Nellie Hazelton, an’ they’ve come to the conclusion that a guy which will play a low down mean game like that on a woman ain’t no fit guy to have no hand in any law makin’.”

  Ten Spot’s voice fell coldly and metallically in the silence of the room. Slowly recovering from the shock Dunlavey attempted a sneer, which gradually faded into a mirthless smile as Ten Spot continued:

  “An’ you ain’t goin’ to have a hand in any more law-makin’ in this man’s town. Me an’ my friends is goin’ to see to that, an’ my boss, Mr. Hollis. I reckon that’ll be about all. You don’t need to hang around here while we do the rest of the votin’. Watkins an’ Greasy c’n stay to see that everything goes on regular.” He grinned wickedly as Dunlavey stiffened. “I reckon you know me, Bill. I ain’t palaverin’ none. You an’ Ten Spot is quits!”

  He stepped back a little, away from the table, his teeth showing in a mocking grin. Then he looked down at the hat which he s
till held in his hand—Dunlavey’s hat. He laughed. “Why, I’m cert’nly impolite!” he said insinuatingly. “Here you’ve been wantin’ to go an’ I’ve been keepin’ your hat!” He dumped the ballots upon the table and passed the hat to Dunlavey. Without a word Dunlavey took it, jerking it savagely, placed it on his head, and strode to the door, stepping down into the street.

  There was a short silence. Then Ten Spot turned and looked at Hollis, his face wreathed in a broad grin.

  “I reckon you-all think you know somethin’ about handlin’ the law,” he said, “but your little Ten Spot ain’t exactly the measliest card in the deck! We’ll do our votin’ now.”

  A quarter of an hour later, after Ten Spot and his friends had cast their ballots and Watkins had been forced to make out a certificate of nomination,—which reposed safely in Ben Allen’s inside pocket—the kerosene lights were extinguished and the men filed out. Hollis and Ten Spot were the last to leave. As they stood for a moment on the threshold of the doorway Hollis seized Ten Spot’s hand and gripped it heartily.

  “I want to thank you, my friend,” he said earnestly.

  Ten Spot jerked his hand away. “Aw, hell!” he said as they sought the darkness of the street, “I ain’t mushin’ none. But,” he added, as a concession to his feelings, “I reckon to know a white man when I see one!”

  CHAPTER XXVI

  AUTUMN AND THE GODS

  It was Sunday afternoon and a hazy, golden, late September sun was swimming lazily in the blue arc of sky, flooding the lower gallery of the Circle Bar ranchhouse, but not reaching a secluded nook in which sat Hollis and Nellie Hazelton. Mrs. Norton was somewhere in the house and Norton had gone down to the bunkhouse for a talk with the men—Hollis and Nellie could see him, sitting on a bench in the shade of the eaves, the other men gathered about him.

  Below the broad level that stretched away from the ranchhouse sank the big basin, sweeping away to the mountains. Miles into the distance the Circle Bar cattle could be seen—moving dots in the center of a great, green bowl. To the right Razor-Back ridge loomed its bald crest upward with no verdure saving the fringe of shrubbery at its base; to the left stretched a vast plain that met the distant horizon that stretched an interminable distance behind the cottonwood. Except for the moving dots there was a total absence of life and movement in the big basin. It spread in its wide, gradual, downward slope, bathed in the yellow sunshine of the new, mellow season, peacefully slumberous, infinitely beautiful.