LITMIR.BIZ

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thing that held Owen Merritt—this idleness. He knew this man too well to be fooled by it.

      Bourke Prine spoke out his growing, dissatisfaction. "You were a sucker to take Isham's drink."

      Pay Lankershim came out of the crowd. He put his thin-old shape against Merritt, speaking into Merritt's ear. "Son, you going to let Isham do it?"

      "What?"

      Pay stepped back. He turned to Bourke. "What's a follow to think? Ain't you talked to him, Bourke?"

      Bourke said, "No use," and turned to the bottle.

      Pay lifted a finger, catching Merritt's attention. He drew the finger sharply across his throat. "That's what it is—tonight. Dammit, Owen!" He pushed back through the crowd.

      Owen Merritt considered the room more carefully, which was a thing he had so far failed to do. It was a little odd to see Hugh Clagg inside four walls with a Skull outfit. The politics of it wasn't right. Searching the crowd, via the back bar's mirror, he saw four others who had come out of the Broken Buttes country with Hugh Clagg this night. Ray Neale stood by the faro rig, not playing. Pete Mariels, the half-breed, remained nearest the shadows of the back end, as he always liked to do; and Tempe Killeen and Lee Repp were at one end of the bar. Will Isham had bought the house, and here Hugh Clagg's riders were drinking Skull whisky. It was a little odd.

      "Unless," he said, "there's been a change."

      "What?" said Bourke Prine instantly. Juke Slover looked up from his glass.

      "The charity of Skull extends all the way to the Broken Buttes tonight."

      "So finally you're awake," grumbled Bourke Prine.

      Fay Dutcher came into the Palace and called out, "All right, boys," Skull's men immediately milled toward the door, bound for the wedding. Mike Tague, who owned most of the Wagon Rim country outright, rose from one of the poker tables, his Irish cheeks a flame-red. He came by Owen. He called, "Large night—large night," and followed the crowd outward. There remained a few homesteaders and a few riders who had no direct interest in the wedding. And Hugh Clagg and his four riding companions. Owen Merritt poured another drink into the glass and laid full weight on his elbows, looking into the oily shine of the liquor. For a little while he forgot Hugh Clagg and remembered other things. There was a growing silence in The Wells. Everybody would be up at the hotel, listening to the Methodist missionary bishop.

      Bourke said, "You goin' or stayin'?"

      Lee Repp made a turn away from his partner, Tempe Killeen. He had to support himself on the bar. Tempe Killeen called, "Come back here, Lee." But Repp moved up to Owen Merritt. His long lips squashed a smile into crookedness. Killeen said again, "Repp." Something as definite as the stir of wind crossed the saloon, and Bourke Prine, always alert to trouble, made a half-turn away from the bar, watching Hugh Clagg, Juke Slover, quick to follow the gesture, wheeled to keep an eye on Pete Mariels.

      Repp looked up at the tall Merritt. He was unsteady on his feet; unsteady and full of some kind of secret amusement that had to come out. He said, "Listen. I guess Sally's brother won't have anything to worry about now, will he? I guess Starr's going to feel a lot safer now, ain't he? Well, it's one way. It sure is one way."

      Tempe Killeen stepped forward, but it was too late to help Repp then. Owen Merritt raised one arm and hit Repp fully in the soft flesh below his ear. Repp wheeled gently around and fell with his mouth wide open. The sound of it made a racket in the still saloon; and afterward Repp lay on his belly and kicked his legs against the floor.

      "If I hear it again from you," Merritt said, "I'll rub you out."

      The saloonman, Tom Croker, spoke half in apology and half as a protest. "Well, he was drunk, Owen."

      "It is something I didn't care to hear," said Owen Merritt. "Even from a drunk. But maybe there's a sober man in the place that wants to repeat it."

      Temple Killeen came up and looked down at Repp, not showing any concern. "Repp," he said, "get off the floor."

      Repp rolled over, pushing himself to his knees, his head lobbing down. A round red blotch showed where Merritt had hit him. He called weakly, "Give me a hand, Tempe. Give me—"

      But Tempe wasn't watching him now, and nobody else in the saloon paid any attention. The people in the saloon were riders who knew the Piute and the ancient grudges of the Piute thoroughly. Lee Repp's foolish talk, meaning nothing in itself, had led into something else. Repp was one of Hugh Clagg's men and the play was up to Clagg. So the crowd watched Hugh Clagg and Owen Merritt, knowing the old, old enmity between those two.

      Repp got to his feet at last and put a hand on Tempe Killeen's shoulder for support. He said to Owen Merritt uncertainly, "What the hell? I didn't—"

      "Go on," said Merritt. "Go on."

      Repp hesitated and at that moment Hugh Clagg broke his long silence. He called across the room, even-voiced, "Get out of town, Repp."

      The wedding was over, for men's returning boots drummed on the outside walk. Repp reached the Palace doorway, turned a moment to look behind him, at Killeen and at Merritt, and at Hugh Clagg for a longer length of time—and left the saloon.

      Hugh Clagg said, not changing the tone of his voice, "I'll let that ride, Merritt. He had it comin' for the remark." He was a high shape against the far wall, holding himself aloof, careful to keep his talk level in the quiet of the place.

      Merritt said, "Sure," and turned to nod at Bourke Prine and Juke Slover. The three of them left the Palace just as the returning crowd reached its door. Standing aside from that thirsty current, Owen Merritt said, "I guess I've had enough of this."

      Bourke said, "Repp wasn't drunk. No drunk man's eyes pull down small like his did when he walked at you. So, one of that crowd forgot somethin'."

      Owen said irritably, "How'd you get spooked up?"

      "I know enough to pay for my own whisky, son."

      Part of Skull's riders were up in the saddle and waiting. Will Isham came out of the hotel and went over toward Nankervell's shop for his buggy, whereupon Owen Merritt remembered something. He said, "Wait for me," and walked toward the hotel. Short of the hotel's porch, in the shadows of Shannon's store, he stopped and waited a moment for Isham to wheel the buggy around to the porch. He laid his hand on the store wall, thus supporting his long shape; and in this concealing darkness his expression let go for a moment and an impulse almost sent him hack to the saloon. Sally came out of the hotel door and stepped into the rig. People were standing all about the porch, and she was smiling in answer to their laughter; but her glance came around, as though she were looking for him. Seeing that, he went to the porch.

      The people nearest the buggy gave way for him. She had stopped smiling; and Isham, now in the buggy, turned with a swift motion of his shoulders, his smooth manners unable to hold back his quick displeasure. But Merritt had removed his hat and he had bent a little toward her. Before all these eyes he was a cheerful man with no care at all on his face, with no regret on it. He said, "Well, I wish you all the luck."

      She was trying to smile. Her hand touched his hand and he felt its momentary pressure. She said, just above a murmur, "Owen—"

      Isham bent nearer, speaking only for the two of them. "I think that's enough." Anger unsteadied those soft words. "I wouldn't overdo it." The next moment the rig was in motion, with a dozen Skull riders trotting behind. Rice flailed the air.

      Mrs. Nankervell turned against Merritt, crying openly—as she cried on any and all occasions requiring sentiment. He turned away and had gotten to the edge of the porch when Helen Tague said, "Owen," and stopped him.

      He removed his hat for this tall, calm daughter of Mike Tague's. Usually she was a cheerful girl, frank and blunt as a man, and since she practically lived on a horse she usually wore a man's overalls and shirt. Tonight she had been Sally Isham's bridesmaid and the reflection of that excitement was in her eyes, softening them, making them gently shine. He couldn't recall when she had looked prettier, and told her so. "Don't know when I saw you last in a dress. Ought to try wearin' 'em regularly."

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