LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

on the Nellie brand, same as he can on his guns. But Nellie's one in one thousand. Them other nine hundred an' ninety-nine'll deal you the odd-kyard, Dan, every time.'

      "When Texas an' Boggs arrives at Boot Hill, Texas goes seelectin' about, same as if he's searchin' out a site for a grave. At last he finds a place whar thar's nothin' but mesquite, soapweed an' rocks, it's that ornery:

      "'Yere's whar we plants him,' says Texas; 'off yere, by himse'f, like as if he's so much carrion.'

      "'Who you talkin' about?' asks Boggs, some amazed.

      "'Who?' repeats Texas; 'whoever but that postmaster? Dead Shot's got to get him soon or late. An' followin' the obsequies, thar ain't goin' to be no night gyards neither. Which if them coyotes wants to dig him up, they're welcome. It's their lookout, not mine; an' I ain't got no love for coyotes no how.'

      "'Thar ain't no coyote in Cochise County who's sunk that low he'll eat him,' says Boggs.

      "Like every other outfit, Wolfville sees its hours of sunshine an' its hours of gloom, its lights an' its shadders. But I'm yere to state that it never suffers through no more nerve-rackin' eepock than that which it puts in about Dead Shot an' his wife. She don't bother us so much as him. It's Dead Shot himse'f, praisin' up the postmaster an' paintin' the sun-kissed virchoose of his wife, which keeps the sweat a-pourin' down the commoonal face. An' all that's left us is to stand pat, an' wait for the finish!

      "One day the Wells-Fargo people sends Dead Shot to Santa Fe to take a money box over to Taos. Two days later, Dead Shot's wife finds she's got to go visit Tucson. Likewise, the postmaster allows he's been ordered to Wilcox, to straighten out some deepartmental kinks. Which we certainly sets thar an' looks at each other!–the play's that rank.

      "The postmaster an' Dead Shot's wife goes rumblin' out on the same stage. Monte starts to tell us what happens when he returns, but the old profligate don't get far.

      "'Gents,' he says, 'that last trip, when Dead Shot's–'

      "'Shet up,' roars Enright, an' Monte shore shets up.

      "It comes plenty close to killin' the mis'rable old dipsomaniac at that. He swells an' he swells, with that pent-up information inside of him, ontil he looks like a dissipated toad. But sech is his awe of Enright, he never dar's opens his clamshell.

      "It's a week before Dead Shot's wife gets back, an' the postmaster don't show up till four days more. Then Dead Shot himse'f comes trackin' in.

      "Faro Nell, who's eyes is plumb keen that a-way, lets on to Cherokee private that Dead Shot looks sorrow-ridden. But I don't know! Dead Shot's nacherally grave, havin' no humor. A gent who constant goes messin' round with road agents, shootin' an' bein' shot at, ain't apt to effervesce. Nell sticks to it, jest the same, that he's onder a cloud.

      "Dead Shot continyoos to play his old system, an' cavorts 'round plumb friendly with the postmaster, an' goes teeterin' yere an' thar tellin' what a boon from heaven on high his wife is, same as former.

      "Faro Nell shakes her head when Cherokee mentions this last:

      "'That's his throw-off,' she says.

      "One evenin' Dead Shot comes trailin' into the Red Light, an' strolls over to whar Cherokee's dealin' bank.

      "'What's the limit?' he asks.

      "At this, we-all looks up a whole lot. It's the first time ever Dead Shot talks of puttin' down a bet.

      "Cherokee's face is like a mask, the face of the thorough-paced kyard sharp. He shows no more astonishment than if Dead Shot's been settin' in ag'inst his game every evenin' for a month.

      "'One hundred an' two hundred,' says Cherokee.

      "'Bueno!' an' Dead Shot lays down two one-hundred dollar bills between the king and queen.

      "Thar's two turns. The third the kyards falls 'ten-king,' an' Nell, from her place on the lookout's stool, shoves over two hundred dollars in bloo checks. Thar they are, with the two one-hundred dollar bills, between the king an' queen.

      "'Does it go as it lays?' asks Dead Shot, it bein' double the limit.

      "'It goes,' says Cherokee, never movin' a muscle.

      "One turn, an' the kyards falls 'trey-queen.' Nell shoves four hundred across to match up with Dead Shot's four hundred.

      "'An' now?' Dead Shot asks.

      "'I'll turn for it,' Cherokee responds.

      "It's yere that Dead Shot's luck goes back on him. The turn comes 'queen-jack,' an' Nell rakes down the eight hundred.

      "Dead Shot's hand goes to the butt of his gun.

      "'I've been robbed,' he growls; 'thar's fifty-three kyards in that deck.'

      "Cherokee's on his feet, his eyes like two steel p'ints, gun half drawed. But Nell's as quick. Her hand's on Cherokee's, an' she keeps his gun whar it belongs.

      "'Steady!' she says; 'can't you see he's only coaxin' you to bump him off?' Then, with her face full on Dead Shot, she continyoos: 'It won't do, Dead Shot; it won't do none! You-all can't get it handed to you yere! You're in the wrong shop; you-all ought to try next door!' An' Nell p'ints with her little thumb through the wall to the post office.

      "Dead Shot stands thar the color of seegyar ashes, while Cherokee settles ca'mly back in his cha'r. Cherokee's face is as bar' of expression as a blank piece of paper, as he runs his eye along the lay-out, makin' ready for the next turn. Thar's mebby a dozen of us playin', but not a word is spoke. Everyone is onto Dead Shot's little game, the moment Nell begins to talk.

      "Matters seems to hang on centers, ontil Nell stretches across an' lays her baby hand on Dead Shot's:

      "'Thar ain't a soul in sight,' she says, mighty soft an' good, 'but what's your friend, Dead Shot.'

      "Dead Shot, pale as a candle, wheels toward the door.

      "'Pore Dead Shot!' murmurs Nell, the tears in her eyes, to that extent she has to ask Boggs to take her place as lookout.

      "Four hours goes by, an' thar's the poundin' of a pony's hoofs, an' the creak of saddle-leathers, out in front. It's the Red Dog chief, who's come lookin' for Enright.

      "They confabs a minute or two at a table to the r'ar, an' then Enright calls Peets over.

      "'Dead Shot's gone an' got himse'f downed,' he says.

      "'It's on the squar' gents,' explains the Red Dog chief; 'Dead Shot'll say so himself. He jest nacherally comes huntin' it.'

      "It looks like Dead Shot, after that failure with Cherokee in the Red Light, p'ints across for Red Dog. He searches out a party who's called the Lightnin' Bug, on account of the spontaneous character of his six-shooter. Dead Shot finds the Lightnin' Bug talkin' with two fellow gents. He listens awhile, an' then takes charge of the conversation.

      "'Bug,' he says, raisin' his voice like it's a challenge–'Bug, only I'm afraid folks'll string you up a whole lot, I'd say it's you who stood up the stage last week in Apache Canyon. Also'–an' yere Dead Shot takes to gropin' about in his jeans, same as if he's feelin' for a knife–'it's mighty customary with me, on occasions sech as this, to cut off the y'ears of–'

      "Dead Shot stops short, by reason of a bullet from the Bug's pistol which lodges in his lungs.

      "When Peets an' Enright finds him, he's spread out on the Red Dog chief's blankets, coughin' blood, with the sorrow-stricken Bug proppin' him up one moment to drink water, an' sheddin' tears over him the next, alternate.

      "The Red Dog chief leads out the weepin' Bug, who's lamentin' mighty grievous, an' leaves Enright an' Peets with Dead Shot.

      "'It's all right, gents,' whispers Dead Shot; 'I comes lookin' for it, an' I gets it. Likewise, she ain't to blame; it's me. I oughtn't to have married her that time–she only a girl, an' me a full-growed man who should 'av had sense for both.'

      "'That's no lie,' says Peets, an' Dead Shot gives him a grateful look.

      "'No,' he goes on, 'she's too fine, too high–I wasn't her breed. An' I ought to have seen it.' Yere he has a tussle to hang on.

      "Peets pours him

Скачать книгу