The Greatest Westerns of Charles Alden Seltzer. Charles Alden Seltzer
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 the 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